


Song of Songs

by mad_martha



Series: Two Households [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-28
Updated: 2011-05-28
Packaged: 2017-10-19 20:49:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 103,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/205064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mad_martha/pseuds/mad_martha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius Black returns to a world that has moved on without him … but fortunately Remus Lupin is still there for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Book I: Hogwarts

**Author's Note:**

> I usually write Sirius/Remus as an add-on to a different primary pairing, but I had a sudden urge to write about them rather than other people. There are also things from early in the Two Households story that I've wanted to write about for a while. Two Households as a universe mainly hangs on a couple of AU premises: that Harry is Sorted into Slytherin when he goes to Hogwarts, and that Pettigrew is caught earlier in the storyline of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban - specifically at the time when Sirius breaks into Hogwarts and into the Gryffindor dormitory. There is no Shrieking Shack scene in the Two Households universe, and Lupin doesn't inadvertently ruin the capture of Pettigrew by turning into a werewolf, although Harry does rescue Sirius from the Dementors in the Forbidden Forest. Regrettably, I've never fully gone into how this scenario works out so there are holes in the storyline that I haven't plugged yet. That doesn't really concern this story, however, as it starts after all the fun of the capture is over. This looks at how Remus and Sirius cope with the early days after Peter Pettigrew is caught and Sirius is finally exonerated of betraying the Potters, and also how Harry ends up going to live with the two of them. It's also worth mentioning that this story was originally a great deal shorter and I think the place where it previously stopped is fairly obvious. Since I decided to continue it and ended up with nine more chapters than I originally bargained for, I've semi-split it up into three 'books' and Book I ends where the original story ended. As for the title … I gave it its title before I decided to continue it, so I'm not sure how well it fits anymore, but I can't think of a better one so it remains Song Of Songs.

**Book I: Hogwarts**

 

 **Part 1**

Remus Lupin pushed open the door of his bathroom and walked inside, to discover Sirius Black standing by the side of a bathtub full of steaming water.  He was still fully dressed and staring at the bath with dazed eyes, but at the sound of the door opening his head turned with jerk and the dazed look was gone, replaced by a moment of borderline panic until he saw who it was.

Best to act casual, Remus thought, as though the panic wasn't there.  "I brought you some clothes," he said quietly, putting the small pile on a stool by the washbasin.  "They're mine, so the trousers might be an inch or so too long, but I suspect the waist will be a close enough fit.  A bit worn, I'm afraid, but they're better than what you're wearing at the moment."

When he looked up again, the dazed look was back in Sirius's eyes.  No wonder, considering the night he'd had.  It was at times like this, though, that Remus didn't fully understand the wolf under his skin.  He had the most desperate urge to grab Sirius and _smell_ him, which was insane because even a normal person could probably smell the man from twenty paces, and as a werewolf he'd tracked the scent of him halfway around the school the previous evening.  There was no getting around it; Sirius was filthy, and it wasn't just the accumulated dirt of eight months on the run.  It was twelve years' worth of ingrained prison grime mingled with the stench of uncounted years of human misery, and it told Remus that even his worst imaginings of Azkaban lacked some detail.

 _And we call ourselves a civilised people._

Striving for a lighter tone, he smiled slightly at his partner.  "You won't get any cleaner by looking at the water, you know."

"I washed in a river …."  Sirius paused, visibly trying to remember something.  "It was some time ago.  So cold … it didn't make much difference."

"That's why soap was invented," Remus said.  He hesitated.  "Do you - do you want a hand?  We're probably going to have to cut your hair anyway."

Sirius grimaced.  "I, er ... I think I might have lice."

Remus was suddenly reminded of an incident from when they were at school together and there had been an outbreak of head-lice among the Gryffindor first years.  Sirius had been quite irrational about it, even though Madam Pomfrey had the situation under control within a day or so of finding out.  Remus still had no idea why Sirius had been quite so horrified at the idea of catching them, although he supposed it must have had something to do with his childhood.

"I think you might too," he said matter-of-factly, "which is why I asked Poppy Pomfrey for a bottle of her special shampoo.  Come on, Padfoot - into the bath with you and we'll sort out the livestock situation straight away.  And one of the house-elves is bringing a meal in a while - you can't eat it in all this filth."

He had to help Sirius to remove the appalling rags of his prison 'uniform' and it was painful to see how thin he was underneath, how bruised and scarred.  He'd been an exceptionally handsome young man once and the remnants of that physical beauty were still visible to someone who knew what to look for.  But his finger- and toenails were all torn, his hair and beard were matted, there was an unfamiliar tattoo on one arm, and there were a couple of ugly injuries on his shoulders that did not look recent and showed signs of infection.  And worst of all was the hollowing and lining of his face and neck until he looked years older than he really was.

"We need to get Poppy to look at these wounds when you're cleaned up," Remus remarked, struggling to keep his voice steady as he helped his partner to bathe.

It took two changes of water before Sirius's skin was really clean, and he was indeed crawling with lice.  Remus waited until the surface dirt was gone before making him wash all over twice with the disinfectant shampoo.  It was difficult to tell if his hair was truly clean; it unravelled a little under the determined onslaught of soap-and-water, revealing itself to be a thick mess of varying lengths and Gordian-like knots.  Remus picked up a pair of scissors he'd brought with him.

"I'm probably going to have to cut it quite short," he warned.  Once again memory intruded; of a nineteen year old Sirius with shoulder-length thick black hair that continually escaped from the bit of cord he tied it back with.

"Do it," Sirius said, indifferent.  "Shave it off, if you have to.  I'm going to shave my beard off, it itches like mad."

"All right, but wait until I've finished here …."

Great clumps of hair fell away.  Not sure how best to proceed, Remus concentrated on getting rid of the worst of the snarls so that he could pass a comb through it, then he tidied up the length.  It ended up at around collar-length; Sirius stared at himself in the mirror for a long space before approving the change.  Remus made him wash it with the disinfectant a third time for good measure, then picked up a small bowl of shaving foam.

"Here, you'd better let me do this as well."

For a moment their eyes met and Remus felt a sharp sensation in his belly, almost anticipation.  Shaving someone - if one wasn't a barber - was a curiously intimate act.  One did not entrust one's throat to a razor in just anyone's hand, after all, and it involved a physical closeness, a concentrated attention, that most men were unwilling to submit to from another man, except in the most neutral of circumstances.  Or most heterosexual men, at any rate.  Remus remembered James Potter (dear old James, so accepting of their relationship as long as he didn't have to see anything that might threaten his concept of masculinity!) being quite outraged when he inadvertently saw Sirius shaving Remus once.  _It's - it's weird!_ he'd spluttered.  _That's not what you said when I shaved you this morning!_ his wife had retorted.

For a moment Sirius's pupils dilated until the dark grey irises almost disappeared.  Then he smiled.  "Do yourself while you're at it," he said.  "Why the hideous 'tache anyway?  It makes you look like a middle-aged man."

"That's the general idea," Remus retorted.  He began to slather foam over Sirius's cheeks.  "I'm a teacher, it pays to look solid and trustworthy."

"Is that why you're dressed like your father?"

He glanced down at his tweed trousers, linen shirt and braces, and smiled ruefully.  "As I said, solid and trustworthy.  Nobody is going to look at me and worry that I might seduce their teenaged daughters.  Or sons, for that matter."

"They don't know much about it then.  Old Crimblethorpe who taught us DADA one year - remember him? - had the tweedy-and-side-whiskered look too, and he ended up having to run for it when they found his collection of sketches at the end of the year."

"I suppose we should be grateful it was just sketches," Remus remarked.  "Especially as you and James turned out to be among his favourite subjects."

He picked up the razor but Sirius caught his hand, staying it for a moment.  "What do you mean?  Where did you hear that?  No one ever told us who the pictures were of!"

Snape had taken great pleasure in telling him at the start of the year, along with making certain insinuations that Remus was determined Sirius would never hear about. 

"There was some talk about it in the staff room a while back," he said calmly.  "Now hold still ..."

Shaving the beard took some of the years off Sirius's face, although it also served to emphasise his terrible gauntness.  He sighed with relief when it was gone, though, and examined his own face in the mirror as though he'd never seen it before.  Perhaps he hadn't seen it in twelve years; Remus didn't want to speculate.

"I think you're presentable now.  Ready to try some clothes and something to eat?" he asked.  He stood up and took a towel from a nearby chair, unfolding it and holding it out with a smile.

Sirius got up with an effort.  He was a little unsteady, perhaps from the need for a decent meal, and accepted Remus's assistance in climbing out of the tub.  Remus wrapped the towel around his waist and reached for another one, only to be forestalled by Sirius putting a shaking hand on his shoulder.  His face was a riot of desperate emotion, and Remus at once abandoned what he had been doing and pulled his partner into a fierce hug, heedless of the soaking it gave him.

"Moony ..."

"I know, love, I know."

"I don't care what they say, Moony, I'm not going back to that place, I _won't_ ..."

Remus stared into space over Sirius's shoulder for a moment, feeling a cold and sickening sensation in his gut.  He remembered the day they dragged Sirius away to Azkaban as though it was only that morning; watching, forcing himself not to intervene - which would surely have been suicide - his head telling him that his lover was a murderer even as his heart and the wolf that forever lived under his skin both howled a desolate protest that this was _wrong_ , that they couldn't take Sirius away from him like this, that he would surely die without him.

He very nearly had.  Sometimes he had wished that he could.

It was different now.  Now they had proof that Sirius was an innocent man, but Remus had no faith in Ministry justice anymore.

"No," he said quietly.  "You're not going back there.  We'll work something out, Padfoot, even if the two of us have to go on the run together.  I won't let them take you away from me again, I promise."

~~~

 A meal was waiting in Remus's private rooms when they walked in, and waiting with it was Professor Dumbledore.  His eyes raked over Sirius, missing nothing, but his slight smile was genuine.

"A definite improvement, Sirius," he observed.

"Is it ever, sir," Sirius replied fervently.  He hesitated by one of the empty chairs at the table.  "Is Wormtail ...?"

"You may rest easy.  Mr. Pettigrew is in secure custody," Dumbledore told him calmly.  He gestured to the chair.  "Please - you must be hungry, both of you."

Remus didn't feel particularly hungry himself but he thought that perhaps Sirius would be more at ease if he wasn't the only one eating, so he sat down and began to uncover the dishes.  The food was fairly plain by the usual standards of Hogwarts fare - soup, bread, cheese, some little savoury pies, and some fruit - but it was undoubtedly a feast for Sirius after Azkaban and eight months of scavenging, and it was better that his stomach not be shocked by rich food so soon.

"Headmaster," he asked warily, as he ladled Sirius a bowl of soup, "Peter hasn't been confined in the dungeons, has he?  Given his Animagus form - "

"Oh, quite so, Remus.  Have no concerns on that head.  Under the circumstances it seemed safer to confine Mr. Pettigrew to his animal form and cage him.  He's not unused to such quarters after all, having spent twelve years as a child's pet, and Professor McGonagall will suffer no qualms or misplaced urges to release him for whatever reason."  Dumbledore gave him a bland look, then tapped his wand gently against the side of a china teapot on the table.  "Tea, gentlemen?"

Ouch.  Remus had known, intellectually at least, that Dumbledore could be both frighteningly perceptive and surprisingly ruthless when he chose, but that little speech could be read in a number of ways, all of which were unflattering to somebody.

Sirius's attention was all on the food, though, as Remus handed him his bowl and pushed the platter of bread closer.  He began to bolt the soup at once and Remus reluctantly grabbed his hand, staying his spoon for a moment.

"Easy, Pads.  Take it slowly and have some bread with it, it's not going anywhere."

Sirius actually blushed when he realised that not only had his manners gone astray, but he was holding the soup bowl close to his chest as though afraid it would be snatched back by somebody.  He put it down, looking mortified.  All Remus could wonder in that moment was what kind of conditions prevailed in Azkaban that Sirius was so afraid his food would be taken from him; he was sure he didn't want to know, for his imagination was quite bad enough.  Trying to cover the moment, he buttered a bread roll and Dumbledore poured the tea, and for several minutes there was no conversation.  Sirius finished his soup and bread and looked the better for it; it was enough to satisfy him for the time being and he sat back with a sigh, regarding his china teacup as though it was something very precious before picking it up and cradling it in his hands.

"We should discuss what will happen next," Dumbledore suggested quietly, and some of the relaxation in Sirius's shoulders vanished.

"You must have notified the Ministry," he said, and the restraint in his voice upset Remus's stomach all over again. 

The headmaster inclined his head.  "I have.  It will probably be mid-morning before the Minister and his people arrive, however, as Hogwarts is still locked down and the Floo will only permit firecalls, not transportation."

"Will I be taken into custody?"

"I feel certain that will be the case."  Dumbledore looked at him over the top of his half-moon spectacles.  "You must view the situation from the Ministry's viewpoint, Sirius.  You are a convicted murderer - "

"No trial," Remus interrupted, and surprised even himself with the level of bitterness in his voice.

"Convicted under emergency powers, but convicted nevertheless," Dumbledore said rather apologetically.  "There were certain procedural violations which I believe we may be able to put to good account, however.  No tests performed upon your wand, no Veritaserum administered during questioning - "

"No questioning, full stop," Sirius said, and he managed a small smile.  "A lot of accusations, but no questioning."

"Precisely.  No matter how sure your captors were of your guilt, you should have been properly processed according to the law, even under emergency powers."  Dumbledore paused and took a sip of his tea.  "There are other things to be grateful for.  I have a high regard for Barty Crouch, but his judgement during the war went somewhat astray and he was removed from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement when Cornelius Fudge took office as Minister.  The man now in charge of the Auror Division is Rufus Scrimgeour, and while he is a difficult and zealous man he is generally unswayed by politics.  I feel reasonably confident that if we present him with hard facts and evidence, he will give you a fair hearing, as will Amelia Bones who is currently in charge of the Wizard Courts."

"Forgive me, Headmaster, but I wish I had your confidence," Remus said.

Dumbledore considered him for a moment or two, before smiling gently.  "The road ahead is difficult, Remus, but I believe that with fortitude we may find a solution.  At this stage it is important to convince Cornelius and Rufus to give full and proper consideration to the evidence in the case.  That we have Mr. Pettigrew in our keeping will go a long way towards this."

"But will Fudge believe even that?  I have a lot of history with the Ministry, Professor, and their ability to ignore what they don't want to see or hear is unparalleled!"

"Mr. Pettigrew will first have to explain why, when clearly he was _not_ murdered by Sirius, he chose to spend twelve years as a family pet rather than comfort his elderly mother by reassuring her of his good health," Dumbledore replied.  "Fear alone will not be good enough, especially as he must surely have been aware that Sirius was no longer a threat to him.  He must then also explain why he attacked the two of you last night and tried to escape, even when there were more than adequate witnesses to ensure that he was in no danger of his life.  These are not the actions of an innocent man, Remus; he has much explaining to do and, judging by his behaviour in my presence early this morning, he is not equipped to do so.

"And finally, I have acted in a very underhand manner and gone behind Rufus Scrimgeour's back to request the retrieval of Sirius and Peter Pettigrew's wands from the Auror evidence store.  A friend at the Auror Division is conveying them here as we speak, so that they may be examined by Rufus and Cornelius personally as soon as possible, rather than waiting for any waters to by muddied by the passage of days."

Sirius let out a long breath.  "All right ..."

Dumbledore smiled.  "Have I neglected to mention that I have no intention of handing you over to the Aurors without the presence of legal representation for you and suitable guarantees from the Minister and Chief Auror?"

Remus let go of some of his own tension.  He still didn't entirely believe this would work - wouldn't believe it until Sirius was publicly exonerated and set free - but he had to admit that everything that could be done was being done to procure that result.  Sometimes you had to make a leap of faith, and although it had been growing more and more difficult for him to step off that precipice lately, he had to make himself do it this one last time or he might as well give up on life entirely.

"Legal representation," Sirius said thoughtfully, staring into his tea.  "My family's solicitors?"

"Yes - unless you would prefer someone else?"

"No, they were always good at their jobs.  I'm just wondering what my mother will have to say about it."

Dumbledore met Remus's eyes across the table for a moment.  "Your mother is dead, Sirius," he said softly.  "Forgive me - it didn't occur to me that you wouldn't know."

Sirius looked up, clearly surprised but not precisely shocked.  "When?"

"About six months after your brother was sent to Azkaban," Remus said.  "She suffered a massive stroke after his conviction and never fully recovered, I believe."

"Oh."  A pause.  "I knew about my father," Sirius continued frankly.  "Reg told me."

Remus blinked.  "He did?"

Sirius gave him a tight little smile.  "They put him in the cell next to mine.  He shouted for a few days, before he realised that'd just make the Dementors pay special attention to him ..."

Remus had another horrible lurching sensation in his stomach and apparently so did Sirius, for his face turned white and he swallowed rapidly.  Remus got to his feet quickly.

"Padfoot?"

"No - no, I'm okay.  Sorry."  Sirius swallowed again and took a deep breath.  "You know what?  I don't want to talk about Reg or my parents right now.  Just - just promise me the Dementors won't be there when I have to deal with Fudge and Scrimgeour."

"The Minister is already aware that I will not permit Dementors to enter the castle," Dumbledore said, with a note of finality in his voice. 

"Right ... thank you."

"Quite unnecessary, dear boy."

Sirius nodded shakily, and took a series of quick sips of his tea.  The colour began to return to his face. 

"Tell me about Harry," he said after a moment or two.  He looked between the two of them.  "Where is he?"

"Undoubtedly he is preparing to take his breakfast with the rest of the school at this moment," Dumbledore said kindly.

"May I see him again?"

"We shall see if that is possible.  There may not be time, but you must be aware that he will probably be called upon to give testimony regarding the events of last night."

Sirius managed a smile.  "He's a good kid."  He looked at Remus and the smile grew stronger.  "You did a good job with him, Moony."

"Me?"  For a moment Remus was thrown by this, then he realised what Sirius meant and coloured slightly.  "Oh, not me, I'm afraid.  If anyone is to be congratulated on Harry's successes, it's Harry himself I should imagine."

Sirius's brows drew together in perplexity.  "But I thought - isn't that why you're here?  You're his godfather too ..."

"Harry doesn't know that, Sirius."

"What?  But - "

"The Ministry refused to let me take custody of him after you were arrested," Remus said with some difficulty, for his inability to do his duty by Harry had been a source of shame and frustration for years.  "The werewolf laws were tightened up after the war, you see."

"Then where does he live?  Who's looking after him?"

"Harry currently resides with his aunt and uncle," Dumbledore supplied.

"His ..."  For a moment Sirius looked blank, then horrified.  "Not Petunia Evans?"

"The same.  She is his nearest blood relative," Dumbledore replied calmly.  "This is too complicated a history to give you in full at this moment, Sirius, but in brief - when Lily Potter gave her life to save Harry, she set up conditions that happened to be ideal for a piece of benign blood magic which has provided Harry with significant protection throughout his life.  That magic relies upon him residing with his mother's sister, however."

He might have saved his breath; Sirius barely registered the explanation.  "That miserable bigoted cow!" he exploded.  "You're not telling me that he's been forced to live with her and that repulsive husband of hers?  My God - he'd have got a warmer welcome from my dear old mother, I'll bet - "

"Sirius!" Remus interrupted sharply, alarmed at the violence of Sirius's outburst.  "Harry is fine, do you understand?  _Fine._   He's healthy and normal and - "  His mouth froze on the words _well adjusted_ , for he couldn't in conscience say that when he didn't believe it to be true.  As far as he could tell from the contact he'd had with Harry, Remus felt that the boy _wasn't,_ in fact, well adjusted at all.  He was withdrawn, wary and secretive, asking as little as possible from others and giving nothing in return.

Dumbledore was unmoved by Sirius's anger.  "I do not deny that Mrs. Dursley has been less than nurturing towards Harry, Sirius.  Nevertheless, it was vital that he was protected, especially in his early years, and the blood magic I spoke of has performed that office better than any protections we could afford him save custody here at Hogwarts.  Hogwarts is not and never has been a suitable environment for small children."

Sirius sat back in his chair very slowly, gripping the arms tightly.  Then all at once he seemed to crumple in on himself a little.  "Oh Christ," he breathed, covering his eyes with one shaking hand, "what the hell have I done?"

"Sirius ..."

"This is my fault.  If I hadn't been so desperate to go after Peter myself, none of this would have happened and Harry would at least have been safe with you and me, Remus.  Not forced to live with that - that woman and her wretched family."

"Sirius, _don't_.  Beating yourself over things you can't change won't help you.  You've got to concentrate on getting through this mess with Peter now, and then maybe there'll be opportunities to change things later."

There was a light tap on the sitting room door.  Sirius jumped, his eyes once again getting the panicky, fugitive look that Remus had seen earlier in the bathroom, but Professor Dumbledore calmly got up and went to the door to admit Madam Pomfrey.

"Ah - there you all are," she said briskly.  "Headmaster, Minerva has asked me to tell you that Kingsley Shacklebolt has arrived and is waiting for you in your office."

"Indeed?  He made very good time."  Dumbledore looked across at Sirius.  "Kingsley Shacklebolt is the Auror in charge of recapturing you, Sirius.  I believe he has brought the wands as I asked, but I must speak with him.  Might I suggest that you go with Madam Pomfrey to the infirmary?  For the sake of a semblance of normality, Remus must take his morning classes for the time being, and it would be unwise for you to remain in his quarters should my conversations with Kingsley or the Minister not go as I predict.  This would be the first place they would search."

"I'm surprised they haven't searched the school at least once already then," Sirius said rather dryly, but he got to his feet.

"Oh believe me, I was the first person they questioned when you escaped," Remus said wryly.  "It was one of the most compelling reasons for accepting Professor Dumbledore's offer of a job.  At least here they couldn't turn my quarters over whenever they felt like it."

"Should it prove necessary, Sirius, I shall send someone to you to warn you," Dumbledore said, with a ghost of a smile.

"Who can you trust with that other than Moony?" Sirius asked, a little sceptically.  "They're bound to make sure he's secure before they go after me."

"I think we may safely trust Harry not to give you up to the authorities," Dumbledore said, and there was a distinct twinkle in his eyes as he said it.

~~~

 The infirmary was empty and quiet when they arrived there, but Madam Pomfrey installed Sirius in one of the little isolation rooms just in case.  "It has direct access to the back stairs as well," she remarked, with a small smile.

Sirius stared up at her as she laid out a tray of dressings and ointments on a little table beside his chair.  "Do - do you believe me, then?" he asked hesitantly.

"I believe the evidence of my own eyes and the word of the Headmaster and Minerva McGonagall," she replied briskly.  "If Peter Pettigrew is alive - and I've seen him - then you can't have murdered him, can you?"

"That's only a small part of it," Sirius said.

"Well, I recall the end of the war quite well, Mr. Black, and I remember that it was only Mr. Pettigrew's claim that you murdered all those Muggles before you supposedly killed him.  As I said - he's alive.  If he could falsify his own death, then why not the deaths of many others?"  She gestured to his shirt.  "Take that off, please, and let me see your back."

Sirius removed the shirt mechanically.  "James and Lily Potter ..."

"That was always the hardest part of the story to swallow.  Ah - these are nasty gouges!  How did this happen?"

"I was attacked by someone in the prison yard and the marks won't heal."  But Sirius wasn't deflected.  "Obviously it wasn't too hard to believe that I'd betray my best friend and his wife, or people wouldn't have believed it."

"Easy for people who only knew your name and reputation, and not you yourself."  For a moment the nurse put her hands on her hips and gave him an exasperated look.  "Are you trying to convince me otherwise, young man?"

Young man?  He felt a hundred years old.  He'd been in Azkaban for almost a third of his life.

"It's what everyone else will say, isn't it?" Sirius said.

"You've convinced Albus Dumbledore," Madam Pomfrey said dryly.  "He's not exactly everyone, Mr. Black.  Now - you need to hold still.  This may hurt a little, but I need to drain the wounds ..."

She cleaned the two wounds and dressed them, then matter-of-factly inspected his hair to be sure that he was clear of lice - "We don't need another outbreak of _that_ in the school just yet, thank you" - and gave him a truly horrible potion to drink.

"I did a rotation at Azkaban early in my career," Madam Pomfrey explained rather grimly, as he gagged and spluttered, "so I know the surface parasites are the least of your problems.  Most of the prisoners sicken from intestinal worms, not poor nutrition, although there's no denying the food could be much better."

The potion had certain natural effects, after which Sirius felt as though he hadn't eaten a meal at all.  Madam Pomfrey brought him some sandwiches and recommended that he try to rest until Professor Dumbledore sent word.

Rest was impossible though.  Sirius's brain was alight with everything that had happened in the last twelve hours, from breaking into Gryffindor Tower and seizing Wormtail, to the mad chase through the Forbidden Forest that had followed.  Throughout it all, two things stood out with glaring prominence: young Harry racing to his rescue as the Dementors attacked, and Remus's face gazing at him across the breadth of the headmaster's office, white with shock and relief.

He had meant what he said to Remus.  No matter what it took, no matter if he died in the process, he was not going back to Azkaban.  If he died now trying to escape, at least Harry and Remus would know the truth.  It would be enough - although he would much prefer to live and live freely.

Exhausted, Sirius let his head fall back against the chair he sat in.

 _Are you really my godfather?_

Such desperate, hungry eyes - Lily's beautiful green eyes, set in James's face.  Soaking wet and covered in dirt, but such vital life vibrating through that teenaged body, such hope on his face.  Such power in him, as he cast a Patronus to put any Auror to shame.

 _Are you really my godfather?_

Yes ... yes, I really am.  I'm sorry.

And the life flowing back into Remus's worn, tired face: _It wasn't you at all!_

No, it wasn't me.  I'm sorry.

It might as well have been him, though.  His own actions had condemned him, his own rashness and lack of forethought.  Common sense should have told him that any man with the patience to plan and wait as Wormtail had would have a back-up plan if things went wrong.  But Sirius hadn't been able to bring himself to believe that Peter Pettigrew of all people might betray them, let alone outwit them all.  He had relied on the man's maudlin crush on James, whilst holding his intelligence in contempt.  Part of him, a very deep, hidden, barely acknowledged part, had even believed that Peter was expendable - a willing sacrifice in his devotion to James and Lily.  None of them had ever dreamed that he could cravenly eat dinner with the couple one day, and betray them the next.

I'm so sorry, James.  I'm so sorry, Lily.  I let everyone down.

Sirius stayed in his chair, smelling the clean, slightly antiseptic smell of the infirmary and listening to the sounds of the school drifting through the window, and was still wandering the labyrinth of his self-condemnatory thoughts when footsteps approached the door of his room several hours later.

It wasn't Harry.

For a moment Sirius couldn't decide whether to be glad or disappointed.  He settled for nauseating uncertainty as Remus pushed the door open and stepped inside, closely followed by a tall, dark-skinned man whose bearing screamed 'Auror' despite his unusually vibrant robes.  Only one though; and no Dumbledore, no Fudge, no MLEs, no Dementors.

"Are you all right?" Remus asked him, smiling slightly.  He still looked strange, with that unfamiliar moustache and worn tweedy clothes and his professor's robe over it all.

"I think so," Sirius said warily.  He couldn't take his eyes off the second man, and an all-too-familiar panic began to rise up in his chest.  He hadn't felt it in all the time he'd been on the run, so focussed had he been upon finding Wormtail, but ever since his rescue by Harry the fear had been close to the surface.

"It's all right, truly."  Remus paused.  "Sirius, this is Kingsley Shacklebolt.  He's the Auror in charge of recapturing you."

"And is that what you're here to do now?" Sirius asked with a reasonable facsimile of calm.

"I'm here to take you into custody," Shacklebolt said, in an unexpectedly deep voice.  The corners of his eyes crinkled up for a moment.  "But it's just a formality, Black."  He offered a hand.  "It's a pleasure to finally meet you.  We always knew it would be hard to catch one of our own, but you were an education for the trainees in how they should never underestimate an opponent."

Sirius stared at the outstretched hand, uncertain how to take this.  "Should I be reassured by that?" he asked, looking between Shacklebolt and Remus.

"It's all right," Remus repeated with emphasis.  "It took some time, but Dumbledore persuaded Fudge to view the new evidence."

"And Peter?"

"He did his best to claim he was in hiding for twelve years because of his fear of you," Shacklebolt said.  "I think Fudge might actually have accepted that as an explanation if it had just been him there and not the others - "

"But Scrimgeour and Amelia Bones jumped all over Peter right away!" Remus said triumphantly.

"Amelia Bones?" Sirius said, bewildered.

"I happened to be passing by her office on my way from the evidence vault," Shacklebolt said, his expression bland.  "She was quite interested to find me conveying two wands to Professor Dumbledore at short notice and insisted on accompanying me to Hogwarts."

"She took Peter's statement apart at the seams, Padfoot!  He tried to wriggle out of it by claiming that there were still other Death Eaters on the loose, but he couldn't explain why you went after him specifically, how he knew in advance of everyone else that James and Lily were dead, or why he faked his own death after you supposedly killed all those Muggles.  Or why, if he did that to escape you, he didn't return later to reassure everyone and offer testimony against you."

"Madam Bones insisted on testing your wands there and then with _Priori Incantatem_ ," Shacklebolt said.  "Your wand was essentially clean.  Pettigrew's, however, replicated several instances of the Avada Kedavra curse, on top of the Slicing Hex he used to sever his finger and a number of other significant curses, including the other two Unforgivables."

"He's going to Azkaban, Sirius," Remus said softly.  "Any of the Unforgivable Curses would be enough for that.  He wasn't an Auror at the time; he didn't have licence of any kind to use them."

"But you're taking me into custody," Sirius said to Shacklebolt, and he couldn't keep the fearful note out of his voice.

"The evidence will have to be presented to the High Court," Shacklebolt said.  "Everything must be open and above reproach this time, and the members of the Wizengamot will want the opportunity to see for themselves that Pettigrew is truly guilty and you are innocent.  So for the time being I must take you into custody, but you won't be returning to Azkaban.  I'll escort you to a holding cell myself, and you'll remain in my custody - not the Minister's - until you've had your hearing."

"How long will that take?" Sirius asked, beginning to feel shaky.

"Some days, I'm afraid, but the High Court has to be summoned and the prosecutors need time to prepare a proper case against Pettigrew.  Likewise, your legal representatives - who are waiting in the Headmaster's office, by the way - will want some time to view all the evidence and prepare a proper defence for you.  But you may rest assured that you'll be safe in my custody.  The Aurors under me are all entirely reliable."

"Besides, I think Fudge has been convinced," Remus said, and he was smiling.  "He was terribly shocked by everything he saw, but he was making noises about making sure the trial was watertight this time and starting to put a positive spin of sorts on the news.  It might actually make him look good, after all, if he can right an injustice that his predecessor committed."

Sirius didn't know what to think; it was too much information all at once.  Eight months of living on a knife's edge meant that his instincts were screaming for him not to trust this, that it was a trap and if he submitted now he would find himself back on the prison boat to Azkaban, surrounded by Dementors.  But what other options did he have?  He could transform and try to make a run for it, with this very efficient Auror right at his heels ... or he could go against every instinct and trust them.  Trust Remus.

Trust Remus.  He hadn't forgotten what had happened the last time he hadn't quite trusted Remus enough, in spite of the love and werewolf bond that lay between them.  Remus was staring at him now, his eyes begging him to take that leap of faith.

Sirius could feel himself breaking out into a cold sweat and forced himself to say the words before his jaw locked completely.

"So how do we do this?"  His voice sounded stiff and scared even to his own ears.

Shacklebolt was an ocean of calm though.  "Professor Lupin and I will escort you to the Headmaster's office.  The Minister of Magic, Chief Auror and Madam Bones are waiting to speak to you - an informal questioning, but your family's legal representatives will be present to assist you.  Then I'll accompany you to the Ministry and place you in formal custody.  Again, your legal representatives will be able to attend you - "

"Can Moony come with me?"

Shacklebolt's eyes flicked to Remus for a second.  "I've read your file - he's your legal spouse, yes?"

"We're legally handfasted," Remus put in, "but you know I'm a werewolf."

"I'm comfortable with you accompanying us," Shacklebolt said.  "We're halfway between lunar cycles so there's no problem as far as I'm concerned, so long as you don't try to wander off in the Ministry building.  I believe Professor Dumbledore intends to come along too."

"All right," Sirius said quickly, before he could change his mind.  "Let's - let's do this now, before I lose my nerve."  Which was a laugh, really, for he'd lost his nerve the moment Shacklebolt entered the room, but he still had his pride, such as it was after twelve years in prison.

"I have to do two things first," the Auror said almost apologetically.  He drew a small strip of flexible metal out of his pocket.  "Firstly, I need to put this around your left wrist.  It's to stop you transforming.  I'm sorry, but I have to take the precaution - Pettigrew's wearing one as well.  Once it's on, you won't be able to remove it yourself.  May I do that?"

 _No_ , Sirius thought, panicky.  But he held out his wrist and the band was fixed around it.

"Here," Remus said.  "I brought you a robe.  Tuck your shirt in and put it on."

Sirius did as he was bidden, mechanically tucking the loose tails of Remus's old white shirt into the waistband of his borrowed trousers.  The robe was a faded dark blue, very worn about the seams, and it wasn't until Sirius put it on and it fitted precisely about his shoulders that he realised it must, against all the odds, be one of his own old robes.  It seemed beyond credibility that Remus should have kept any of his lover's clothes after he was sent to Azkaban, but perhaps he had just been practical about it.  One thing Remus had always been was very practical.  Then Sirius saw the look on Remus's face, and changed his mind about that.

The next item out of Shacklebolt's pocket was a pair of manacles.  "This is a formality, you realise.  For the time being you remain an escaped convict ..."

Words couldn't express how Sirius felt as he watched Shacklebolt securing one of the manacles to his own wrist and then locking the other around Sirius's right hand, but within moments it was done.

"Shall we?"  Shacklebolt gestured towards the door.

Madam Pomfrey was waiting in the main ward as they all walked through.  She gave Sirius a brisk smile and a pat on the shoulder.

"Well - goodbye, Mr. Black, and good luck!  I'm sure everything will work out."

Sirius wished he had her confidence; he gave her a weak smile, having no choice but to accompany Shacklebolt and Remus out of the infirmary. 

They were halfway to the Headmaster's office when the school bell began to ring.

"Oh, blast!" Remus muttered.

Like a tsunami breaking over them pupils emerged from every direction, many small rivers of black robes and dishevelled uniforms surging through the corridors.  Sirius hadn't seen this many people in years; his mouth went dry and every muscle locked.

"Easy, Padfoot ..."

Heads were turning to look at the two strangers, footsteps slowing, the overwhelming hubbub shot through with sharp whispers.

 _Who's that?_

 _Why's Professor Lupin with them?_

 _Is that Sirius Black?_

 _They've caught him!_

 _It's him, it's Sirius Black -_

"Keep moving, Mr. Black ..."

"It's all right, Sirius, just ignore them and keep walking."

He couldn't.  It was impossible.  His legs wouldn't cooperate under all those youthful, staring eyes and excited faces.

"It's Sirius Black, the murderer - they've caught him!" a boy's voice suddenly trumpeted above everyone else, and Remus went from concerned friend to angry professor in a flash.

"Thank you for that utterly unnecessary and unhelpful observation, Mr. Finnigan!" he said sharply, in a clear carrying voice that silenced everyone.  "Ten points from Gryffindor!  Now move along, all of you, and be about your business before I take points from anyone else who feels like favouring us all with the blindingly obvious!"

For some reason the tone of his voice did more to soothe Sirius's nerves than anything else, and before he could stop himself he let out a little snort of laughter.

"Bloody prefect!"  Remus turned to stare at him in astonishment, but Sirius pulled himself together and raised his head proudly.  "Can we go now?"

"Certainly," Shacklebolt rumbled.

 

 **Part 2**

"They've caught him, have they?"

Remus tensed a little at his father's wary tone.  "Not caught ... he voluntarily gave himself up in return for certain assurances."

"He'll be on his way back to Azkaban then."

"No."  He wondered how much he should tell his parents, given that the press had not yet been formally notified of what had happened.  Perhaps complete honesty was the only answer, although they were already uneasy from having him turn up on their doorstep unannounced and begging for a place to stay for a few days.  Given his normal ruthless self-sufficiency, perhaps that was understandable.  "New evidence has been discovered." 

"Like what?"  Romulus Lupin never raised his eyes from his plate, but Remus could see him stirring his casserole restlessly, his fingers turning his fork over and over in a familiar nervous habit.  "A few more Muggles murdered?"

"He didn't do it."

"They all say that."

"There's new evidence," Remus repeated quietly.  "It wasn't Sirius who killed those people at all, it was Peter - "

"Remus!"  His mother looked shocked.  "How can you say something like that?  Peter Pettigrew was your friend!  He _died_ \- "

"Actually, it turns out that he didn't."  Remus struggled to keep his voice calm.

His father put his fork down very deliberately on the side of his plate.  "Do you remember what young Pettigrew's mother got back to bury after your _friend_ Black had finished with him?"

"A finger," Remus said tiredly, and he saw his mother flinch slightly, her mouth tightening with distress.  "And it's hardly surprising that fingers was all she got back, when the rest of him was living a cosy life as the pet rat of the Weasley family for the past twelve years!"

"And what the devil's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that he was an Animagus, Dad!  They all were - Peter, Sirius ... James."

"Nothing was said about that when those Potter friends of yours died," Romulus said sharply.

"Not surprising," Remus said.  He put his own fork down, his appetite gone.  "None of them were ever registered, and there didn't seem to be much point in saying anything about it after two of them died and the other was sent to Azkaban."  He looked up at his father, part of him noting the grey hair and lined face that were the only significant differences between them.  He saw that self-same struggle for calm in his own face in the mirror most mornings, and supposed that one day he would see the same wrinkles.  "Dad, it's God's truth, I swear.  Peter is alive, and it was he who betrayed James and Lily and murdered all those Muggles, not Sirius.  Both of them are in custody at the Ministry now, and there's going to be a trial - a proper trial this time."

"So young Peter's alive," Marianne Lupin said, clearly trying to keep a light, calm tone.  "That doesn't mean he murdered anyone."

Remus wondered if this was a small taste of what he would be hearing in court when Sirius finally got his trial.

"He confessed to the Minister and Chief Auror yesterday," he said, and hoped that his tone wasn't as aridly dry as it sounded to his own ears.

"He was probably in hiding for fear of his own life," his mother continued, as though he hadn't spoken.

"For twelve years?  Without so much as a word to his mother to reassure her?"

"He was always timid and easily-led."

"That's his excuse for going over to You-Know-Who."

"Men like Peter Pettigrew don't become Death Eaters," Romulus said curtly.

Remus thought of all the men just like Peter who had joined Voldemort's followers, including Sirius's younger brother Regulus, and grimly held his tongue.

"What could he possibly have to offer them?" his father continued.

Remus sat back, feeling thoroughly exasperated.  "Oh I don't know, Dad - the lives of his best friends, perhaps!"

"You told us that Black was their Secret Keeper - "

"I was wrong," Remus retorted.  "And do you know why I was wrong?  Because they never told me that they'd switched.  They didn't trust me enough to tell me, because funnily enough they all thought that _I_ was the turncoat!"

There was a long, strained silence.  Then Romulus put his napkin down on the table and pushed his plate away.

"Remus, I admire your loyalty, however much I deplore the subject of it," he said heavily. "But I warned you many years ago that there's bad blood in the Black family.  Men of his ilk don't change their colours!"

"I know you did, Dad, and I wish I'd listened to you," Remus replied.  "If I'd had more faith in Sirius then, perhaps he wouldn't have spent twelve wasted years in Azkaban.  He _didn't_ change his colours!  He did what he thought was right, and it was hardly his fault - or James's for that matter - that Peter betrayed them."

"He didn't trust _you_ though, did he?" his mother said sharply.

"No, he didn't.  And that's my fault.  I didn't entirely trust him at the time either."

"Oh Remus, listen to yourself," she said, sighing.  "You're _still_ making excuses for him, even after everything that's happened."

"I can't help that," Remus said quietly.  "It's my nature, Mum, you know that."  His father made a sudden, uncontrollable gesture of denial.  "And I'm sorry you don't like that, but there isn't a single damn thing I can do about it.  Sirius is what he is to me.  I can't change that, anymore than I can change the cause of it."

"You don't have to make a virtue out of it instead!" Romulus said sharply.

"I didn't think I was," Remus said, suddenly feeling very tired.

Silence.  Finally Romulus stirred, looking as weary as Remus felt.

"So what will you do next?"

"See him through the trial.  Pray that the truth comes out fully this time and he's exonerated."

"And what then?"

Remus shrugged.  "I honestly don't know."  He traced a pattern on the tablecloth with his fingertip for a moment.  "I was hoping you might let me borrow the cottage on the coast for a while."

"Your brother usually has it at this time of year," Marianne commented.

"I know," Remus said, keeping a tight grip on his temper.  Rufus was well able to put off his holiday for a week or two just this once, he thought.  "It wouldn't be for long.  It's just that ... well, I don't have an awful lot of money at the moment and it's impossible to say how long it'll take the Ministry to release Sirius's funds if - when - he's freed.  You know what they're like.  I just need somewhere for us to stay until I can sort something else out."

"Well, we'll see," Romulus said.

Knowing that pushing his father's decision would almost certainly result in a refusal, Remus forced down his impatience.  "Thank you."

"And what'll you do if they send him back to prison?"

Remus had already settled that with Kingsley Shacklebolt, but his parents didn't need to know until it was done.

"I'll manage," he said.  "I always do, don't I?"

~~~

 Remus had forgotten how small his bedroom was; or perhaps it was simply that he was older and larger than he had been the last time he slept here, although he didn't think he could have grown all that much between leaving home and now.  He lay staring up at the ceiling in the early hours of the morning and tried not to look at the photographs and posters that were still pinned on the walls from when he was a boy.

There were a lot of memories for him in this house, but all the good ones from his childhood seemed to have been supplanted by the bad stuff that happened later on.  The conversation about Sirius over dinner had been a pale shade of the arguments from his mid-teens about the pranks he had got up to with him, James and Peter.  And Remus certainly hadn't forgotten the row that had erupted when they were barely nineteen.  That had been the year the Handfasting Law had been passed, although it had been some months before that his brother Rufus had casually Apparated into their shared Harrow flat to find Remus in bed with Sirius.  His parents were good people, but they were very conventional working-class purebloods and the relationship he and Sirius had was of a kind that they viewed as being a decadent perversion mostly confined to Muggles and the First Families.  It had confirmed all their worst, if previously suppressed fears about Sirius, and any kind of explanation - especially of the kind that pointed up the actual facts - was at best useless and at worst liable to convince them they were right.

Remus loved his parents.  They were good, decent people who wanted what they thought was best for him, and much of their attitude now sprang from a series of well-meant fears for him that they had never been able to overcome.  He hadn't been able to share a roof with them for years, beyond the usual visits at Christmas and occasional birthdays.  His brother Rufus he saw even less; that was particularly hurtful, for they had been close until the row, but now Rufus wouldn't even allow him to spend time with his nephews.  In a family where Remus's lycanthropy had always been a non-issue, this was an open wound that his parents made no effort to heal.  They weren't repulsed by him as a werewolf; they were repulsed by his homosexuality, and Remus refused to subject them and himself to the trauma his presence seemed to induce.

This time he had no choice, though.  He needed somewhere to stay near to Diagon Alley while Sirius was incarcerated at the Ministry awaiting the trial, and he couldn't afford to waste money renting a room.  His parents had taken him in, but they weren't happy about it.

Well, he wasn't particularly happy about it himself, but everything was so difficult at the moment that he was taking it one step at a time and had no room to be picky or emotive.  Step one had been achieved; Sirius had been transferred to the Ministry from Hogwarts under Kingsley Shacklebolt's protection.  The next step was the actual trial.

 He tucked an arm behind his head and thought about this.  The transfer had been relatively smooth, but there had been some problems when they arrived at the Ministry.  For one thing, Remus set off every Dark Creature alarm they encountered which had necessitated a long and frustrating process of Kingsley vouching for him at every step of the route and obtaining - not without difficulty - passes that would allow Remus supervised access for future visits.  A copy of their Handfasting Certificate was necessary to allow him Spousal Visitation rights, and even then it had taken two attempts before an official could be found who was willing to accept it and grant the relevant pass.

Remus got the impression that Kingsley had not expected some of these problems, especially the attempt to block the Spousal Visitation pass, and that he was both angry and frustrated with them, although he maintained an appearance of calm and courtesy.  Remus himself was utterly unsurprised; he'd been dealing with anti-werewolf prejudice and homophobia for most of his adult life.

The worst moment had come as they were leading Sirius to his holding cell and he had a sudden panic attack.  It had taken nearly twenty minutes to calm him down, not helped by the number of people rubbernecking, many of whom had openly expressed some fairly infelicitous sentiments about him.  News of Pettigrew's capture had not yet been widely disseminated, and more than one voice from the surrounding crowd had demanded to know if Shacklebolt wanted a Dementor summoned.  The threat, genuine or otherwise, had not made the task of reassuring Sirius any easier.

Remus squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.  He hated leaving Sirius there, even knowing that the team of Aurors in charge of guarding him included his own cousin Nymphadora Tonks and old Mad-Eye Moody.  Not to put too fine a point on it, Remus didn't trust the Minister not to change his mind.  Nor did he trust any number of other very powerful individuals at the Ministry and in the Wizengamot.

Lucius Malfoy sprang to mind.  So, for that matter, did Severus Snape.  Remus tried to remember the scraps of information about the composition of the Wizengamot that had littered the conversations of Sirius and James when they were young men.  The Snapes were impoverished and their power in the Wizengamot had been reduced for some reason, but he couldn't remember why.  Not that it mattered.  Snape was friends with Malfoy and a few other charmers with seats in the Chamber.  Some of them held significant positions within the Ministry hierarchy as well.

He worried about what decent men like Shacklebolt and Moody could do if someone like Malfoy decided to use Sirius's incarceration as an opportunity to remove him.

 _I don't want to be sentenced to the Kiss_ , Sirius had said desperately before Remus left.  _Anything but that, Moony._

And so Remus had made a bargain with Shacklebolt - if things showed signs of going badly for Sirius in the resulting trial, he wanted to be given a chance to give Sirius another way out.  Shacklebolt had taken some persuading, but eventually he had reluctantly agreed.

That was tomorrow morning's job - locating a back-street apothecary who would sell him enough silver nitrate, aconite and cyanide to grant them both a quick exit from life if necessary.

If there was one thing Remus was certain of, it was that he couldn't rebuild his life a second time without Sirius.

~~~

 After all the excitement of the previous day, Sirius seemed calm and in reasonable spirits when Remus visited him just after lunch.  His family's lawyers were due imminently and while it couldn't be said that he was entirely optimistic, he wasn't the terrified wreck of a man Remus had been forced to leave behind the night before.  The holding cells at the Ministry were more humane than Azkaban - not difficult, admittedly - and Sirius had slept a little and been able to wash, besides eating a couple of plain but acceptable meals.

Remus was a little surprised to discover that his partner now had a guard of four instead of two, though.

"There was a bit of excitement in the night," Sirius said, when he queried this.  "I'm not sure what, but judging by the number of people who made a point of sticking their noses around to the door to tell me not to worry, there must have been something good going on."

His wry expression said a lot about what he considered to be "good".

"Hm," Remus said, not liking this much.  "Hang on a minute - " 

He went back to the door and rapped on it until Nymphadora Tonks opened the slot set into it at eye height.

"Wotcha, Lupin!  What's up?"

"That's what I was going to ask you," Remus said dryly.  He couldn't get used to seeing her grown up, for she'd been an engaging eight year old the last time he saw her.  "How's your other prisoner this morning?"

"He's all right too," she said, and her brows changed colour even as she quirked them expressively.  "Kingsley said that if you asked, I was to tell you he'd explain later if he gets a chance - but between you and me, someone tried to get at Pettigrew in the night."

Remus's brows twitched up.  "Anyone we know?"

She grimaced a little and her hair segued patchily from its 'normal' bright blue to the flame-like orange of her brows.  "Can't really talk about it - sorry.  I wasn't on duty anyway."

"No, that's fair enough.  Thank you."

"No worries.  No one's coming at Sirius _or_ Ratty without going through a whole bunch of us, you know."

"I believe you," Remus assured her, a little amused.

She grinned at him and closed the slot again.

"If she's anything like her mother I think no one had better try to get to you," Remus commented, returning to sit beside Sirius on the side of the narrow bunk.

"I was expecting it," Sirius said tiredly.  "I felt pretty sure either Peter or I would be Kissed or dead this morning."

"Kingsley's a thorough man."

"So it would seem."  Sirius turned to study him.  "I was too busy being a pathetic idiot to ask yesterday, but - where did you go last night?"

"Back to my parents' house," Remus said.  "I still have some things stored there, including a couple of sets of your old formal robes.  I'm not sure why I kept them, to be honest, but they'll be useful for your trial."

"If they let me wear them," Sirius said pessimistically, but he reached out and gripped Remus's wrist gratefully.  "Thanks Moony."

"What else is one's handfasted spouse for?"  Remus gave him a crooked smile and turned his hand in Sirius's grip until he was gently squeezing his fingers.

Sirius huffed a laugh.  "Any trouble with the Visitation pass?"

"Of course, but the Aurors seemed to be well-briefed.  There was someone on hand to browbeat the security staff and let me through."

"Thank God!"

"Your lawyers should be here soon," Remus said.

"I've been thinking about that," Sirius said, gathering himself.  "I need to talk to them about my Will as well - just in case - although I don't know if it'll be allowed to stand if I'm Kissed."

"You're not going to be Kissed," Remus said, controlling his voice with an effort.  "Look, I can't say much here but I've made other arrangements for us."

"Us?" Sirius's eyes flicked up to meet his.  "Moony - "

"If you think I'm going to try and stitch my life back together without you this time, you really are mad," Remus interrupted.  "No arguments, Padfoot - if you go, I go with you."

"Moony, no - Harry needs one of us here with him - "

"Harry has managed quite well without us this far," Remus said firmly.  His mouth twisted wryly.  "I doubt he was even aware that he had godparents until now, and you have to believe me when I say that he's remarkably self-reliant and independent, Sirius.  I've teaching him since September and I know almost as little about him now as I did before the school year began.  He keeps himself to himself."

"You taught him to do the Patronus Charm," Sirius pointed out.

"I don't think he would have approached me about that if he hadn't been at the end of his tether, and even now I can't honestly say that the first move was really his.  I found out that his boggart was a Dementor almost by accident and then I had to drop little hints that I could help him and hope he'd take the bait.  Which he did eventually, but don't kid yourself that he opened up to me at all.  Getting him to talk about _anything_ during those lessons was like pulling teeth."

"Is he much like James otherwise?" Sirius asked wistfully.

Remus hesitated, not knowing how to answer this, and to his relief they were interrupted by a polite knock at the door.  Nymphadora put her head around the edge.

"Your lawyers are here, Sirius," she said.  "Moody says we can move you to one of the secure interview rooms if you like."

"Well I don't think there's going to be enough room in _here_ ," Remus said wryly, standing up.

"I'll have to secure you," she said apologetically to Sirius.  "Here, Midgen - take my wand.  Basic precaution," she added to them.

"I know," Sirius said, a touch of dry humour in his voice.  "I used to be an Auror."

"Yeah, of course - sorry, it's been a while and I don't remember you talking about stuff like that when you used to visit Mum and Dad."  She produced a set of manacles from a robe pocket and snapped one around his left wrist, securing the other around her own right wrist.  Then she grinned at him unexpectedly.  "Till death do us part," she intoned, and her hair flushed an odd peachy-pink colour.

For some reason he couldn't quite put a finger on, this irritated Remus.  "I think he has enough charges laid at his door already, without adding bigamy and incest, Nymphadora."

"I tell people to call me Tonks," she said chattily, oblivious to his tone.  "I don't know what Mum was thinking, calling me _Nymphadora_."

"She's a character from one of Gaius Cloudhook's epic poems," Remus said, his irritation mounting.  "An air spirit with many different faces."

"Sounds like something Mum would come up with."

Sirius shot Remus an odd look, somewhere between amusement and consternation, and turned to his cousin.  "We'd better not keep old Shoester waiting," he reminded her, so they set off.

The interview with the Black family lawyers was dispiriting.  Remus had been braced for them to echo the attitudes of Sirius's late parents towards the family prodigal, but he had failed to take into account the very practical attitude of the legal profession.  A client was a client, regardless of his supposed crimes, especially when one was on a perpetual retainer to the family.  Shoester and Slippet had been representing the Black family for hundreds of years and this was far from the first time one of the family had been accused of murder.  It wasn't even the first time that one had been sent to Azkaban (although Sirius's generation was unique in having two brothers and a cousin all incarcerated simultaneously).  Sirius's primary concern had been that the family lawyers wouldn't represent him because he had been disinherited before his father died.  On this point they were happy to reassure him; his father had died before the full legal process could commence, and his mother had apparently ceased caring once his brother Regulus was also sent to prison.  Technically, Sirius was still the heir - and therefore the now the head - of the Ancient and Noble House of Black, although this would have to be ratified by the Wizengamot's family court at some point in the future.

As far as his current predicament went, they had prepared a pretty tight defence for him even at such short notice.  The only question mark lay over whether they would actually be permitted to present it, for wizard criminal law had a habit of being rather flexible, especially when it came to saving the face of the Ministry.  Sirius's legal team were as confident as they could be under the circumstances, though.

After that, Aloysius Slippet pulled a lengthy scroll out of his briefcase.  "It occurred to us, sir, that you might wish to make your Will ..."

"I would," Sirius said, resting his forearms on the table.  He looked tired and older than he should.  "How does the current werewolf legislation stand as regards inheritance?  Am I able to provide for Remus here, in the event of my death?"

Even this revelation, if it was a revelation, failed to unsettle the solicitors.

"Unfortunately, Mr. Black, werewolves are not permitted to inherit at present, only to bequeath."

Remus thought this must be someone's idea of a cruel joke, given that most werewolves were outcasts, unable even to find employment enough to keep body and soul together.  Having something to bequeath was unlikely for most.

"Great," Sirius said sourly.  "All right ... who would inherit everything if I died intestate and with no acknowledged heir?"

Barnabas Shoester shuffled some papers nervously.  "That could be somewhat problematic, sir, as perhaps you already realise.  Your respected brother has predeceased you, Mr. Alphard Black died without issue - and was disinherited besides - and your surviving relatives in the direct line are all female.  Both Mrs. Lestrange and Mrs. Malfoy are married to _patresfamilia_ of other First Families, which disqualifies them from inheriting on their own behalf, and Mrs. Tonks was, like yourself, partially disinherited by your late father.  That leaves three possible heirs, all of whom are, frankly, questionable - Mrs. Malfoy's son, Mrs. Tonks's daughter and your late Aunt Octavia's son, Severus Snape …"

"The Wizengamot prefers male heirs where possible," Sirius remarked.  "They'd almost certainly refuse to confirm Andromeda, especially as she married out, and they wouldn't even consider Nymphadora because she wasn't acknowledged by the head of the family when she was born.  Cissy's married to another _paterfamilias_ , and her son - what's his name?"

"Draco, sir," Slippet said in a subdued tone.

"Right.  Well, he's Malfoy's heir, which rules him out.  And Snape's the head of _his_ family, which rules him out.  Don't Cissy and Malfoy have any other children?"

"No, sir - just the one."

Sirius sat back and looked at Remus.  "A second Malfoy son might have been a possibility under the circumstances, since the Wizengamot doesn't like to see old families die out.  As it is, we could be looking at the end of the House of Black."  The idea didn't seem to trouble him much.  He turned back to his lawyers.  "There's nothing to be done about the entailed property - that's the Manor, some financial holdings and jewellery, stuff like that I would assume."

"I have a list of the entails," Slippet began, but Sirius waved it off.

"Everything else - everything that isn't specifically entailed to family - I want to pass to my godson, Harry Potter - that's Henry Potter the Younger, heir of the House of Potter.  That should include everything I inherited from my Uncle Alphard, plus anything that automatically devolves to me in my own right from my parents and brother.  You might have to tussle with the Ministry for it, they probably tried to confiscate everything when Regulus got sent to Azkaban."

"We're already looking into that, Mr. Black," Shoester assured him.  "As the matter stands, the Ministry attempted to serve papers confiscating the Manor after your brother's conviction, but they were unable to take possession of the property.  Apparently the bailiffs couldn't find the house, as your mother had closed it up and used an Unplottable Charm sealed to the family.  Consequently the matter was allowed to slide, but the Manor will have to revert to you if you are exonerated.  As for the rest of the assets, they are still in dispute as Gringotts have been contesting the right of the Ministry to open the family vaults.  These too will have to be returned should your trial go as we all hope it will, but should you remain convicted we will lodge counter-claims for everything on behalf of the estate."

"Excellent.  Don't forget the house at Grimmauld Place," Sirius added.  "It belonged to my mother, it was never a part of the main estate, and as such it devolves to me alone.  Don't let anyone try to pull the wool over your eyes about that."

Remus gave his partner an odd look.  "You've been thinking about this, haven't you?"

Sirius shrugged.  "I didn't sleep much last night, so there wasn't much else to do." 

"Papers were also drawn up for the confiscation of number 12 Grimmauld Place, but your mother was successful in resisting the attempt," Shoester noted.  His voice became dryly neutral as he added, "I understand the official who attempted to serve the notice retired for medical reasons shortly thereafter, and his successor was unable to locate the property due to it also having been made Unplottable in the meantime."

Sirius snorted, grimly amused.  "I'll bet!  No one ever caught my mother out twice."  He leaned forward again and tapped a finger on the sheet of parchment Slippet was swiftly making notes on.  "If it's at all possible to legally designate my godson Harry as my true heir, I want to do that.  It won't be, of course, but just trying will infuriate the Malfoys and in any case he _is_ some kind of blood relative somewhere in the family tree."

The two lawyers exchanged looks.

"And Severus Snape, sir?" Shoester asked politely.

Remus saw a brief flash of rage cross Sirius's face before his expression settled into a forced blandness.

"Seeing as he was happy to let a flock of Dementors try to Kiss me a couple of days ago, regardless of Pettigrew being found, I don't see why he should inherit anything of mine," he said flatly.  Then he seemed to reconsider, and a little smile appeared.  "No, I take that back.  I leave my _dear_ cousin Severus Hectorius Ignatius Tobias Snape a single Knut - a bent and tarnished Knut.  That's all."

~~~

Sirius had been in the great criminal court room at the heart of the Ministry several times before, but never on his own account.  It was a deeply unsettling experience to be escorted to the central chair and chained to it, feeling at the very edges of his senses the presence of Dementors - not actually inside the room, but somewhere very close by - and to know that the audience of Wizengamot members in the tiered seats before him were in all probability hostile to him. 

The witness stand was off to his right; seated there were Minerva McGonagall and Severus Snape, and with them two boys in school uniform.  One was tall and lanky and had red hair - that would be the Weasley boy who had 'owned' the rat that was Peter Pettigrew, but Sirius hadn't caught his first name.  The other was Harry Potter, his dark hair untidy and sticking up at the back like every Potter ever born, his face James Potter's face.  There were others with them, including his lawyers and Kingsley Shacklebolt, although Professor Dumbledore was in his usual place as Chief Warlock.

Remus was in the public gallery, far above the court and out of sight.  Perhaps that was just as well.

A soft murmur of comment arose as his Auror escorts, both unknown to Sirius, made sure he was secure and stepped back.  Then someone was banging a gavel and when Sirius looked up he saw Cornelius Fudge - of all people! - sitting in the Minister's seat.

"Witches and wizards of the Wizengamot, I hereby declare this session of the Criminal High Court to be open.  Presiding judges are myself, Cornelius Fudge, and Madam Amelia Bones of the Justice Division."

A craggy, hard-looking man with a mane of russet hair stood up.  "Rufus Scrimgeour, Chief Auror!  I hereby request that this session be formally recognised by the Wizengamot as a continuation of the Death Eater Inquisitions of 1981, Minister."

"Granted," Fudge said, peering at Scrimgeour over his spectacles.

Professor Dumbledore stood up then.  "Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Chief Warlock!  I would ask the Wizengamot to formally recognise that the defendant here before us - namely, Sirius Mercurius Black - is here as an _appellant_ against his sentence of life imprisonment."

"It's a curious thing," an insinuating male voice said, before Fudge could reply, "but I wasn't aware that there _was_ an automatic right of appeal against a life sentence.  And surely one would tend to assume that a man who is innocent would have chosen to make his appeal through some official channel, rather than breaking out of his place of incarceration and evading every attempt at his recapture.  Forgive me, my colleagues of the Wizengamot, but would that not seem to suggest a guilty conscience rather than the actions of an innocent man?"

Lucius Malfoy.  Sirius well remembered those glacially perfect tones, as he also remembered the man's long white-blond locks and supreme arrogance.  He had to suppress a curled lip as, unbidden, his dead mother's voice came to mind: _A parvenu_ , she had said with disdain, _but he has money enough I suppose._   Money enough for the least of the Black family daughters to marry, she meant.

"My dear Lucius," another cut-crystal accented voice said coldly, "if, as you suggest, there _is_ no right of appeal against a life sentence, which official channel would you suggest the man uses to protest his innocence?  Access to the editor of the _Daily Prophet_ is hardly open to the denizens of Azkaban ... unlike some I could mention."

This was a much older man, very upright in his pristine, if slightly old-fashioned robes.  He too had nearly white hair but his was due to the bleaching of age, rather than his natural colouring.  He was leaning on a hound-headed cane and eyeing Malfoy with a look that bordered on contempt.  Nevertheless, his voice remained coolly courteous as he continued, "We are not barbarians, I hope.  If new evidence has arisen to suggest Sirius Black is innocent, as would seem to be the case, then let it be heard.  We have nothing to fear in that but potential enlightenment."

"Or potential muddying of the waters," someone else remarked.

"We are intelligent men and women," the elderly man replied dryly.  "I feel sure we can all tell the difference between deliberate obfuscation and the truth.  And if we feel unequal to the task, there are ways and means of reaching to the heart of the truth."

There was a pause, then Dumbledore turned back to Cornelius Fudge.  "With respect, Minister, I repeat: I would ask the Wizengamot to formally recognise that Sirius Black presents himself in appeal against his sentence."

"Does the Chief Auror reject this request?" Madam Bones asked, before Fudge could respond.

"I do not," Scrimgeour said briskly, which caused another murmur in the chamber.

"Very well.  So noted," Fudge said in a disgruntled tone.

"Thank you."  Dumbledore resumed his seat, and Scrimgeour followed suit.

"In that case, let the first witness step forward to explain the background to this continued session of the original Death Eater Inquisitions of 1981," Fudge continued.  "The Court calls the Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt."

~~~

The trial (as there was no such thing as an appeal hearing for a life sentence) took four days, much of which was taken up by a frustrating series of attempts by various members of the Wizengamot to dismiss it.  This was countered by decidedly neutral testimony from the Chief Auror, more emphatic testimony from Kingsley Shacklebolt, cross-examinations both hostile and sympathetic of Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, corroborating evidence from Professor Dumbledore, and dizzying legal arguments from Sirius's counsel.

Finally, however, came the damning moment that Cornelius Fudge had visibly twisted himself into knots to prevent, when a second chair slipped smoothly up through the floor a few feet from where Sirius was seated.  The courtroom door opened once again to admit Mad-Eye Moody, who stepped through it, his wooden leg clunking loudly on the marble floor and his false eye scanning every face in the courtroom.  To his wrist was chained Peter Pettigrew.

A soft murmur of comment arose, echoing around the courtroom as Pettigrew was led, cringing, to the second seat by Moody and Nymphadora Tonks, and chained there.  He was snivelling like a child, a disturbing sight in a grown man, and the days in close custody - though a shadow of what he could expect in Azkaban - had not done him any favours.  The torture was purely mental and self-inflicted, however.  Remus, acting on an instinct, had procured him a set of clean and reasonably well-fitting second-hand robes and persuaded Tonks to see that Pettigrew cleaned himself up and wore them.  This wasn't done as an act of kindness; Remus had some experience of how the wizard courts worked and he had a very real fear that if something wasn't done in advance, the man's changed appearance might lead anyone who didn't know him well to argue that he wasn't Pettigrew at all.  The Aurors weren't allowed to make much use of such evidence as fingerprints, as this was deemed to be an unreliable Muggle technique, with the predictable result that sometimes criminals were released and innocent citizens gaoled through simple misidentification.

To Remus's relief his intervention worked.  When the question of Pettigrew's identity was inevitably raised, Kingsley Shacklebolt was able to pass around copies of several photographs from his days in the Order of the Phoenix, and the resemblance was enough that even Lucius Malfoy reluctantly had to agree that they were one and the same man.

That done, a second round of tough questions began.

~~~

Remus spent much of the trial sandwiched between Andromeda Tonks and Hestia Jones in the tightly-packed public gallery.  In the far corner of their row of tiered seats sat the acid-blonde figure of _Daily Prophet_ hack Rita Skeeter, along with a number of representatives of lesser periodicals and wireless stations.  It was all uncomfortably reminiscent of the original Death Eater trials and Remus was inclined to think badly of Hestia, who tactlessly furnished herself with a packet of roasted nuts each day in anticipation of the long sessions.

"Hard to believe that Peter Pettigrew is alive after all," she remarked softly at one point, in between munching.  "If I hadn't seen it myself, I wouldn't believe it.  Looks a bit the worse for wear, doesn't he?"

"It seems remarkably fitting that he's spent the past twelve years as a rat," Andromeda replied in more reserved tones.  "Although under the circumstances, we're lucky he wasn't trapped or eaten by something in the meantime.  Death at the paws for a good mouser would be no more than he deserves, but highly inconvenient for us.  Sirius looks better than I expected, after all the dreadful photographs in the _Daily Prophet_ lately, though.  Why must they publish pictures of criminals in their cells?  This isn't Restoration London, for the public to view convicts and lunatics as entertainment!"

"Old Pettifer was mistaken," Remus replied wearily.  "We _are_ barbarians.  We just like to tell ourselves we're not."

"He looks dreadfully thin."

"Give me half a chance and I'll feed him up."

Hestia patted his hand kindly.  "Look the Potter boy in the witness benches.  He _does_ look like his father, doesn't he?"

He looked dreadfully tense to Remus's eyes.  "I wish they hadn't brought him here, or the Weasley lad.  I can't see how their evidence will make much difference and they shouldn't have to witness an Inquisitional hearing."

"It won't hurt him to see how the Wizengamot operates," Andromeda replied stoutly.  "It's good experience for later on - although I suppose his guardians will be preparing him for when he comes into his inheritance."

Remus could imagine few things less likely; in fact, he had an idea that Harry himself didn't know much, if anything, about his inheritance, let alone the significance of it.  But when he'd mentioned his concerns to Dumbledore at the beginning of the school year, the headmaster had politely deflected the question.  He wondered if the Dursleys understood the full extent of what awaited Harry when he reached his legal majority at twenty-one, and came to the conclusion that they probably didn't - which, now that he came to think of it, could only be a good thing.

Then he forgot all about Harry's situation, for Kingsley Shacklebolt had saved his most damning piece of evidence for last; he was finally talking about the tests performed on the wands of Sirius and Pettigrew.  Another Auror brought in the two wands, amid much excited whispering both among the Wizengamot and the public watchers.  Scrimgeour himself stepped out of the tiered seats to perform Priori Incantatem again, and the bright flashes of the Avada Kedavra Curse and Slicing Hex emitting from Pettigrew's wand contrasted starkly with the binding and disarming charms that were the last spells cast by Sirius.

 When the smoky charm residue cleared there was silence in the chamber, into which Peter Pettigrew's whimpers fell quite audibly.  Even from a distance Remus could see Sirius's hands shaking where they were bound to the arms of the stone chair.

Then Amelia Bones spoke very sternly.

"Sirius Black."

"Ma'am?"  He raised his chin proudly, but his gaunt face was white.

"Eyewitness reports say that you stood and laughed rather than try to make your escape on that day.  Did you find something amusing in the deaths of so many innocent bystanders?"

Sirius licked his lips nervously.  "No, ma'am."

"Then why did you laugh?"

"Because ... because it was Peter who was the traitor all along.  The one person we never believed could betray us.  And he outwitted us - outwitted me.  It was ..."  Sirius stopped and swallowed.  Took a deep breath.  "I laughed at the irony, I suppose.  After all the years of playing pranks at school ... he tricked us all.  And it never occurred to any of us that it could be him."

"No, it never _would_ occur to you that I could do it, would it?"

The low, resentful voice was so unexpected that Remus jumped slightly, and he heard Hestia take a sharp breath of surprise.  Pettigrew had raised his head and turned to look at Sirius with a face full of rage and loathing - every pitiable mask was finally cast aside.

"Poor little Peter!  Always the tagalong, the one you could tease and pick on and ignore whenever you liked - it couldn't possibly be me, could it?  Who would bother with me?  I was the stupid one, after all, wasn't I! The one you and James ignored whenever you couldn't be bothered with me or you didn't have some shitty job for me to do!"

Looking around the faces in the chamber, Remus noticed Snape's nasty little smile and Harry's pale face.  The boy had a lot of self-control, but he thought he could detect a shadow of nausea there as Harry stared at the man who had condemned his parents to death.

"Be quiet, Mr. Pettigrew," Scrimgeour said coldly, but Pettigrew wasn't listening.

"You never even noticed when I wasn't around any more!" he spat at Sirius.  "You only came looking for me when you wanted me to take your place as the Secret Keeper, because the risk to you was too great - "

"It was too big a risk to James and Lily," Sirius retorted, unable to stay silent.  "Do you think I _cared_ what happened to me, you pathetic little runt?  But I was the obvious person, the one Voldemort would have come after first!"

"And no one would ever have suspected Peter, the useless fool and hanger-on, the mighty James Potter's shadow!" Pettigrew shrieked.  "Well, you were wrong!  I meant more to the Dark Lord than I ever meant to any of you!"

" _Silencio!_ " Shacklebolt said, calm but forceful, and Pettigrew fell back in his chair, his mouth working silently against the gagging charm.

Into the shocked silence that followed this, Professor Dumbledore said very sadly, "Well ... it would seem that Mr. Pettigrew has convicted himself."

Remus felt physically sick, and almost missed what was said next.

Cornelius Fudge was rapping his gavel, a sour look on his face.  "Wizards and witches of the Wizengamot High Court!  Having heard the testimonies of all the witnesses in this matter given here, and having heard the personal statements of both Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew, is the court minded to grant the appeal of Sirius Mercurius Black against his life sentence?  Please raise your hands if you agree with the motion."

Remus found himself knotting his fingers in the folds of his worn old robe as hands slowly began to be raised around the chamber.  He closed his eyes, unable to bear the stress of watching and counting them.

Then he heard Andromeda let out a breath.  "There's a majority!  Yes - even Lucius has decided to vote in favour!"

"He would.  He's a politician," Remus heard himself say in a tolerably calm voice, but his hands were beginning to shake.

"We have a majority, Minister," Madam Bones was saying. 

"Very well.  The motion to grant the appeal is carried."  Fudge didn't sound very enthusiastic, but he would undoubtedly find some way to make this reflect well upon himself.  "Sirius Mercurius Black, it is the will of the Wizengamot High Court that your appeal against your life sentence for multiple murders is granted."  There was a difficult pause, then he said rather coolly.  "You are free to go."

Kingsley Shacklebolt turned at once and waved his wand.  The chains binding Sirius to the chair fell away -

\- And Remus struggled to his feet, knowing only that he _must_ get to Sirius as quickly as possible.  The court had gone mad, the watchers in the various public galleries around the Wizengamot Chamber giving voice to their excitement and disbelief, but out of the corner of his eye Remus saw Harry scrambling down from the witness stands while a furious Severus Snape shouted at the boy.

"For heaven's sake, will you let the man through?" Hestia bawled at a couple of people in the seats behind them who were blocking Remus's route to the door.  He thought he might have to climb over them - then he saw Rita Skeeter making a beeline for him and wondered if climbing over might not be the more direct route anyway.

"Ah, Ms. Skeeter - one moment!" Andromeda called and she darted sideways to physically intervene.

Remus's last view as he burst through the door into the corridor was of Rita's cheated expression as she stared at him over Andromeda's shoulder.  Then he was grabbed by Nymphadora Tonks, who must have been waiting for him.  Her hair seemed to be scrolling through an entire rainbow of colours and patterns, and weirdly so were her eyes.

"All right then, Lupin?  Come on, I'll get you through this lot ...  OY, OUT OF THE WAY, YOU IDIOTS, I'M AN AUROR!"

Remus wanted to laugh at her commanding roar.  He also wanted to shout and cry, and somewhere at the back of his mind his saner self wryly noted that he was definitely on the brink of an hysterical reaction.  He submitted to Nymphadora dragging him bodily through the corridors and down flights of stairs until they were approaching the entrance to the Wizengamot Chamber.  The doors were already opening, and people began to spill out - several Aurors, followed by Shacklebolt and Moody ... and Sirius. 

He had Harry clinging to his side like a limpet, which would later register as a surprise to Remus for his experience of Harry over the past few months was that he was standoffish and wary.  On the other hand, Sirius had an arm firmly clamped around the boy's shoulders as well and there was a distinct suggestion that Harry was almost holding up his white-faced and shocked-looking godfather.

But then Sirius saw Remus and stretched out his other hand, and suddenly they were in a messy three-way huddle.  Remus spared a stray thought to wonder what Harry was making of this, but he didn't seem to object at all.  Given what Remus knew of his aunt, he suspected this might be a rare act of genuine affection in Harry's life that the boy was sorely in need of.  It would certainly explain a lot about his behaviour.

"Gentlemen, if you'd like to come with me, we need to process Mr. Black's formal release papers ..."  That was Kingsley Shacklebolt, and he was unobtrusively trying to steer them down the passage.

"Of course."  Remus pulled himself together a little.  "Come on, Sirius, let's get this done and get you out of here.  No, Harry, it's all right - you can come too."  He felt fairly secure in saying this, for Dumbledore hadn't yet emerged from the Chamber.  By the sound of things, there was still some sort of debate going on in there.

A chill washed over him, like someone walking over his grave, and he felt both Sirius and Harry shudder convulsively.

"No ..."

"Sirius, it's all right - "  It felt like a lie, but it would with two Dementors sweeping slowly down the passage behind them, sucking all the joy out of the moment.

"They've come to collect Pettigrew," Shacklebolt muttered, and Remus was gratified to see him actually trying to shield Sirius by standing between him and the Azkaban guards.

"They're not going to Kiss him, are they?"  That was Harry, his voice high and shaking slightly.

"No, they've come to take him to Azkaban."  Shacklebolt stepped forward, drawing his wand, but although the two Dementors seemed to pause for a second at the sight of Sirius, they quickly ducked into the Wizengamot Chamber.

"Let's get out of here before they come back," Remus said, relieved.

~~~

Easier said than done.

They made it to the MLE Release Desk without too much difficulty, but the paperwork seemed to take forever to complete and the officer on duty became flustered when Sirius asked about his possessions that had been confiscated when he was first arrested.

"That'll take a while after all this time," Kingsley said, intervening.  "Black, I'll sort it out for you and have everything ready to collect in a few days.  I believe there are a couple of boxes of things taken from your flat during the raid after you were arrested."  His eyes flicked to Remus for a moment, who had no trouble in interpreting the look.  Some of the things in those boxes would be his - he'd been extensively questioned for more than a week after Sirius was captured, and his werewolf status had been used as an excuse to effectively rip his life to shreds and confiscate anything they found, regardless of its relevance.  "Most of that should be returned to you.  I'll speak to your lawyers, yes?"

"Thank you."  Sirius signed yet another sheet of parchment.  "Where are they, by the way?  I was expecting them to be here to see me signed out."

"They're in the Chamber still, arguing the wording of your acquittal."  Kingsley smiled sardonically.  "Apparently they don't trust the Minister not to word things equivocally.  I can't imagine why."

Sirius managed a short laugh which reminded Remus a little of Padfoot's bark, but before he could comment there was a commotion at the entrance to the little office and a brilliant flash went off, half-blinding Remus.  Kingsley was onto the culprit in a flash.

"YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO TAKE PHOTOGRAPHS IN THE MLE OFFICES!" he bellowed, advancing on the photographer and trying to take the camera from him.

"It's in the public interest!" the man yelped, evading his hand.  "The public has a right to know about a dangerous murderer being set loose on the streets!"

"He's not a murderer, and he's been loose on the streets for months anyway!" Kingsley snapped back.  "Miss Skeeter, I suggest you take this fool and wait outside - accidents can happen to delicate equipment in these offices, and I wouldn't want either of you to suffer an unfortunate and unavoidable injury!"

"Now now, Auror Shacklebolt."  Remus's fingers involuntarily clenched at the sound of the familiar and maliciously avid accents.  "The _Daily Prophet_ has a press pass to enter the public areas of the Ministry offices."

" _Not_ the MLE booking-out desk, you don't," Kingsley retorted.  He was standing in the doorway now, his bulk effectively blocking Rita Skeeter's view through it and preventing the hopping photographer from getting a clear shot.  "Why don't you go and wait in the Atrium - I'm sure the Minister would be more than happy to give you a quote when he leaves the Wizengamot.  If you're really lucky, Mr. Black's lawyers will be able to give you _his_ opinion too, which is far more than you're going to get here if I have any say in the matter."

"But an innocent man has nothing to hide!" she protested sweetly.  "Why don't you ask Mr. Black if he'd like to talk to me?"

"I wouldn't," Sirius said over his shoulder, very curt.

"You heard the man," Kingsley said coolly.  "And I would remind you that you are not permitted to take photographs of Harry Potter _anywhere_ without the express permission of his guardians or the headmaster of Hogwarts School.  The boy is still a minor.  If there are any pictures of him on that roll of film you just took, they must be destroyed or the Magical Law Enforcement Office will be taking punitive action against your newspaper."

"Really, Auror Shacklebolt, this borders on censorship!  If there's nothing to hide, then surely it would be better for everyone if the truth is told - "

"Precisely," Kingsley said blandly, and he spread his arms, herding the pair of them away from the door.  "Which is why I must insist that you leave."

Sirius managed a grin for Remus and Harry.  "It's obvious why Shacklebolt went into law enforcement and not politics."

"Thank God!" Remus said.  "Are you done here yet?  We could do with finding a route out of here that avoids the Atrium, as it's likely to be overflowing with the press and rubberneckers."

"Last form, Mr. Black," the man behind the desk said, holding it out.

Nymphadora Tonks hurried through the door.  "There you are!" she said, relieved.  "Mum says you're all to go back to our house with her and Dad and she'll make you some tea."

"Bless her!" Remus said, equally relieved.

She grinned.  "Sirius's lawyers are going to meet you there.  And Professor Dumbledore's looking for Harry."

"I think we're nearly done here," Sirius said.  He looked very tired, but the premature years were already beginning to fade from his face a little.  He signed the final form and handed it back.

"That seems to be everything, Mr. Black," the official said.  He looked a little nonplussed as he added, "You're free to go, sir."

A big smile broke over Sirius's face.  "Thank you."

~~~

Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape were both waiting in the corridor outside with Andromeda Tonks when they emerged.  Dumbledore stepped forward quickly to clasp Sirius's hands.

"My dear boy!  Congratulations."

"Thank you, sir."  Sirius was still looking a little shell-shocked, but his smile was broad.

Snape looked rather sour and made no comment, and although Remus (remembering how quickly quarrels had erupted between the two when they were young) had been half-expecting to have to intervene, for once Sirius simply ignored him.

"Someone said something about tea?" he said hopefully, turning to Andromeda.

She stepped forward, smiling, and drew him into a hug. 

"This is a good day," she said quietly but with great emotion when she released him again.

Sirius nodded.  "It feels pretty good to me.  Andromeda, you look amazing."

"And so will you when we've fed you up a little!" she teased gently.  "Come home with Ted and me.  We can have tea and talk about what you're going to do next."

"I would suggest that you leave by an oblique route," Dumbledore put in.  "I would think the less press attention you receive, the better it will be for you for the moment.  Let the world grow a little accustomed to the idea that you are an innocent man before showing yourself too much in public."

"Works for me, sir."  Sirius looked uncertain for a moment.  "I was hoping to speak to the Weasley lad.  I mean, we've deprived him of his rat - which isn't a exactly bad thing under the circumstances, but it was his pet for all these years and I feel a bit bad about that."

"Minerva has taken Mr. Weasley back to Hogwarts," Dumbledore said apologetically.  "And I'm afraid that Severus must do the same with Harry now."

"Oh, but surely he can come and have tea with us first!" Sirius protested.

"I'm afraid not, Sirius.  He has already missed enough of his lessons.  But there will be other opportunities in the near future, when you are more settled.  You have your life to rebuild, remember."

Sirius looked blank for a moment, but just as Remus was wondering if he ought to say something, he tilted his head to one side, regarding the headmaster.

"We'll need to talk about arrangements for Harry sometime soon."

Dumbledore looked at him over the top of his spectacles.  "Indeed?"

"He's going to live with me in future, of course."

Harry made a sudden movement and although his face was smooth and expressionless, he couldn't quite mask the hope in his eyes as he looked between Sirius and the headmaster.

"Harry is currently under the guardianship of his aunt and uncle," Dumbledore said rather sternly.  "This is a long-standing arrangement which best ensures his safety."

"I'm his legal guardian, Dumbledore."

"Regardless of whether that is, in fact, in his best interests?" Snape remarked dryly.

Sirius barely glanced at him.  "No one asked for your opinion."

"As his Head of House his welfare is, regrettably, somewhat my business," Snape retorted.

Sirius was taken aback by this.  He stared at Snape for a moment, visibly processing what he had said, then frowned and turned to look at Harry.

"I knew there was something bugging me when I saw you earlier," he said slowly.  He was staring at the boy's school tie.  "What the devil are you doing in a Slytherin uniform?"

A nasty smile crossed Snape's face, and Harry seemed to twitch at the accusing tone. 

"I _am_ a Slytherin," he said.  His tone was defensive; but for one split second Remus saw a look of shock and hurt flash across his face before it smoothed into familiar blankness again.

"No you're not," Sirius said sharply.  "Bloody hell, your dad would turn in his grave at the idea!"

"Sirius, _no_ ," Remus said, intervening.  He was annoyed with himself for he should have seen this coming, or at the very least remembered to warn Sirius that Harry wasn't a Gryffindor.  Unlike the rest of them, who had spent the last twelve years in the adult world, Sirius had missed out on part of the process of growing up; his school days were still too close to him for him to be entirely logical about something as trivial as school houses.

Sirius swivelled to look at him accusingly.  "He can't be a bloody Slytherin, Moony!"

"Yes he can, and it makes no difference," Remus told him forcefully.

"To a Gryffindor perhaps," Snape said silkily, openly enjoying Sirius's reaction.  "But for some of us, Black, being a Slytherin is a matter of pride."

"Fuck you, Snivellus!"

Oh Christ.  "Sirius, that's enough - "

"I can assure you, Sirius, that the Sorting Hat does not make mistakes," Dumbledore said quietly, intervening, but his tone was like a whip cracking between them.

Sirius stared at him for a long moment, his eyes wide and shocked, then he seemed to physically recover himself.

"Harry," he began, stretching out a hand, but Harry stiffened and drew back from him slightly.  His expression was almost wooden.

"I'm ready to go now, Professor," he said to Snape.

Sirius's face fell and he looked back at Dumbledore.  "We've barely had a chance to talk ..."

From the look on Harry's face, Remus guessed that the boy wouldn't be much interested in talking to his godfather right at that moment anyway.

"There will be other opportunities soon," Dumbledore said firmly, although not without sympathy.  "Clearly there is much to be discussed, regarding Harry's future and also Remus's future as a teacher at Hogwarts.  Come to the school when you are more settled, Sirius, and we will talk it over.  I'm sure Harry will be more than happy to see you then."

"All right."  For a moment Sirius hunched a little, pressing his fingers to his eyes.  When he straightened up again he looked haggard, as though the multiple shocks of the past few days were suddenly overwhelming him.  He turned to Harry and managed an effortful smile.  "I'll see you in a few days, then."

Remus prayed that the teenager would understand that his godfather's outburst had been prompted more by shock and stress than any desire to hurt or offend him.  It was - as he had found many times over the past few months - nearly impossible to tell what Harry was really thinking behind that smooth, mask-like expression.  The boy looked wary as he studied Sirius's face, but he nodded and cautiously shook the proffered hand.

"All right."

"Good." 

But Sirius's eyes were on that green and silver tie again, looking puzzled, as though he couldn't quite reconcile the all-too-familiar face of his best friend's son with the Slytherin insignia.  Remus saw Harry's mouth tighten stubbornly as he turned to follow Snape down the corridor.

Looking worried, Andromeda touched Sirius's hand.  "Come home with me and have some tea," she said kindly.  "You need to rest and regain your balance, and then you can decide what to do next."

"That'd be good," Sirius said wearily.

 

 **Part 3**

"You've changed the wallpaper," Sirius said vaguely.

"So we have," Andromeda said, and she reached over to top his cup up from the teapot.

Remus suspected that in twelve years the wallpaper had been changed several times, but he wasn't about to upset his partner by making such a pointless remark, and mercifully neither Andromeda nor Ted said anything either.  Sirius was already flaky enough.

He was sitting in a deep, upholstered chair in their pleasant sitting room, clutching his teacup like a talisman.  He kept losing track of what he was saying, which would have worried Remus more if it hadn't been perfectly obvious that Sirius was exhausted and overwhelmed.  Andromeda had sent the family solicitors away after an hour; Sirius had started out full of a kind of angry energy when he arrived at the Tonks house, determined to sort out everything from his inheritance to Harry's guardianship there and then, only for his momentum to suddenly fizzle out halfway.  It was a very graphic demonstration of the saying "hitting a wall" and Remus's main concern was where he would take Sirius to sleep it off when he crashed completely.

"Got to sort out about Harry," Sirius said after a moment.  This was the third or fourth time he'd said it.

"You will," Andromeda told him.  She glanced quickly at Remus, who shook his head very slightly.  He thought he understood why the Harry issue was exercising Sirius's mind so much; probably it was something to do with it being the reason for his breaking out of Azkaban in the first place.  His sole focus for the past eight or nine months had been to get to Hogwarts and prevent the disguised Peter Pettigrew hurting Harry, and something like that would be a hard habit to drop.

"Got to make sure he's looked after if anything happens to me."

"Why would anything happen to you, old man?" Ted asked kindly.

"You never know."  Sirius took a sip of his tea.  His eyes were heavy and unfocussed.  "Never thought anything would happen to James and Lily ...  Never thought I wouldn't be there for Harry if it did.  Not Remus's fault ..."

"No one's blaming Remus, Sirius."

Remus reflected that _he_ was blaming himself, but he didn't bother to voice this.  Again, it would only upset Sirius when he didn't need to be agitated more than he already was.

"Get him away from that troll of an aunt ..."  His voice drifted away and Remus was just quick enough to catch the teacup as it slipped from his fingers.  He started and clutched at it convulsively, staring around.  "What?"

"I think," Andromeda said, standing up and gently taking the cup from him, "that you need to lie down on the bed in our spare room for a few hours.  What do you think?  I'm sure that you haven't slept well lately and it's starting to catch up with you."

"Andromeda, we don't want to impose on you," Remus began, but she waved him off.

"It's not an imposition, Remus.  We're family."

Remus found that a little hard to credit - he could just imagine what Sirius's mother would have said in response to such a statement - but he kept his reaction to himself.  It was more important to have Sirius rest somewhere safe for the moment.  Ted helped him to get Sirius to his feet, and they took him upstairs and settled him in the spare room; a pleasant, light-coloured chamber with a simple wooden framed bedstead and a window that looked out over a back garden full of well-tended magical plants and shaded by pear trees.  Sirius collapsed into sleep almost at once, leaving Remus to remove his shoes and cover him with a knitted blanket.

He hesitated then, staring down at him and not wanting to leave, despite knowing that this was his best opportunity to sort out some other, very necessary business.

"Sirius," he said finally, bending over him. Sirius mumbled a little but didn't wake.  Nevertheless, Remus thought that he might hear him on some level.  "Sirius, I need to nip out for an hour or so.  I won't be long, I promise.  Will you be all right?"

No answer. 

"He'll be fine," Ted assured him from the doorway.  "We'll keep an eye on him."  He hesitated, then as Remus stepped out of the room and pulled the door to behind him he asked, "Will _you_ be all right?"

Remus blinked.  "I'll be fine - I just need to sort out somewhere for us to stay for the next few days."

"That's not what I meant."  Ted gave him a kindly smile.  "None of this has been easy on you, Remus.  I wouldn't blame you if suddenly having him back was a little … difficult to take."

"You're thinking I might take off?" Remus asked bluntly.  "I promise you, I'm not going to leave him on your hands, Ted."  He would sooner cut off an arm.  Leaving Sirius here now even for an hour felt a lot like severing a limb.  But ordinary people, especially Muggleborns like Ted, couldn't be expected to understand the full ramifications of the werewolf bond.

"That's not what I meant at all …"  Ted looked rather shocked.  "No, no, I'm just saying that you've lived without him for twelve years.  No matter how much you wanted him back, it's bound to take a bit of adjusting to after so long.  You're practically different people."

That was probably true, but right at that moment Remus didn't care.  He had Sirius back now - the rest was just details.

~~~

"What is this place?"

Sirius stood on the pebbly path outside the little cottage and breathed in the cool, salty air that washed in with the sea.

"It's my parents' holiday cottage," Remus replied.  He could feel Sirius's surprised gaze on the back of his head as he wrestled with the key in the lock (the lock was always difficult, but it was no use trying an unlocking charm for it was already charmed to be opened by just that one key), but didn't let it bother him.  He would be thinking of the terrible row with Remus's parents, no doubt, but that had been fifteen years ago and fences had been repaired in the meantime that he knew nothing about.

"And where are we?"

"On the South Devon coast.  It's an old coastguard's cottage," Remus explained over his shoulder.  "There used to be a little village about a mile or so up the coast - that was a good long time ago, the last of the residents moved away forty-odd years ago.  It's a good spot for fishing here and it's far enough off the beaten track that Muggles don't generally find it.  My brother brings his family here most summers."

And he wasn't about to tell Sirius of the argument he'd had with his brother Rufus when his father handed the key over the day before.  In spite of the fact that Rufus hadn't planned to use the cottage until July, he'd kicked up a terrific fuss about the 'inconvenience' of his brother having the use of it for a few weeks.  Remus usually tried to be generous in his dealings with Rufus, but for once he had lost his temper and said a few things that probably wouldn't improve his relationship with his family in the long term.  Although he couldn't help thinking that perhaps his father had more sympathy with him than it seemed, for he'd still let him use the cottage in the face of Rufus's objections.  But Sirius didn't need to know any of these things.

The lock finally yielded to persuasion and the door opened.  Seeing the way Sirius was simply standing by the boundary wall, drinking in the fresh air and expanse of beach, Remus let him be and grabbed the first of his bags of provisions, carrying it into the cottage and through to the neat little kitchen.  By the time he'd collected the second and put everything away, Sirius had vanished from sight when he looked out of the kitchen window.

The sudden tug of fear in Remus's gut was utterly irrational and he knew it, but Sirius had been safe for less than a full day.  He all but flew out of the cottage door and around the boundary wall … to find his partner sitting on the upper edges of the beach below the wall, in the awkward leggy manner of an unaccustomed adult, picking up handfuls of sand and letting them sift through his fingers.  When Remus approached him, he could see the look of simple, almost disbelieving wonder on his face.

"Are you all right?" he asked, hoping that his momentary hammering fear wasn't making his voice unnecessarily sharp.  What had he expected Sirius to be doing, after all?

"Sand," Sirius said.

"It does tend to appear on beaches," Remus agreed.  He was still wearing his tweedy professor clothes, which he was sure the beach wouldn't agree with, but he folded himself up and sat down beside Sirius nevertheless.  "Are you sure you're all right, Padfoot?"

"There's nothing but rocks around Azkaban," Sirius told him after a moment, watching another handful of sand filter through his fingers.

Remus's heart clenched.  "Isn't there?"

"Hm.  No.  I remember standing on the rocks after I got out, and it was so cold there … but the wind …."  He lifted his face to the sea breeze and closed his eyes.  "It was fresh air, Moony, clean, fresh air and salt and seaweed, like nothing I'd smelled for so long.  If they'd caught me then, it would still have been worth it, just to have smelled that air."

Remus didn't know what to say for a moment.  "You're free now, love."

The face Sirius turned to him then made up for every petty remark Rufus had made.  It was smooth, light-hearted, visibly happy, almost the face again of the young man Remus had last seen before he'd been taken away to prison all those years ago.  Only its thinness and lines betrayed him.  He reached out with the hand that had been sifting sand and Remus took it gladly, feeling the slight grittiness on Sirius's palm and not caring.  For several long minutes they sat watching the waves roll gently over the foot of the beach, and holding hands in a way they never really had before, even as teenagers.

"So," Sirius said eventually, "what's the plan now?"

"We can stay here for a couple of weeks, maybe more," Remus told him.  "I need to go up to Hogwarts in a day or two, though, and sort out my position with Dumbledore.  And you need to talk to him about Harry, so perhaps we can do both things together."

Sirius nodded.  He was frowning a little, thinking.  "We need somewhere permanent to live."

"I know.  I don't like to press that issue so soon, but it _is_ a concern to me.  I don't have anywhere at present, Sirius - I've been living at Hogwarts for the last few months of course, but before that … well.  My last flat was rented week by week, and I was having a lot of trouble meeting that rent."  He decided Sirius didn't need to know what the flat was like.  He hadn't been sorry to leave it, not at all.

"I'll send an owl to the solicitors tomorrow.  I've got money enough in my vault to rent somewhere in the short term, but we need to think bigger if Harry's coming to live with us."  Sirius continued holding Remus's hand, but his free hand began to comb through the sand again restlessly.

Remus accepted the issue of Harry without a blink; of course the boy would live with them, that had never been in question.  In fact, if he hadn't been a werewolf Harry would have been living with him for the last twelve years.  That was magical law, they had sworn binding oaths at the boy's Christening which made them responsible for him in the event that his parents were rendered unavailable.  Remus spared a thought, however, to be grateful that Peter Pettigrew had failed to turn up to the ceremony on time.  At the time they had all been annoyed and exasperated with him, but in retrospect it was a masterstroke of good luck.  Had Peter actually become Harry's godfather too, he would have been able to take possession of the boy quite legally and God only knew where they would all be now.

Remus did wonder a little how living with Harry would work out in practice, though, given how … challenging … he was.  He wondered if Sirius was remotely prepared for this, then realised that it didn't matter either way.  It was going to happen no matter what and they would simply have to deal with it.

"Well, that's tomorrow's job," he said aloud.  "For today, just take it easy."

"I don't mind doing that.  So long as you do it too."

Remus smiled.  "What else do you think I'm planning to do?"

"No idea, but I know _you_ , you bloody prefect!"  Sirius grinned at him.  "I wouldn't put it past you to bring a trunk full of the kiddies' homework with you to mark, or some rot like that!"

"Well, now that you mention it, I think I _did_ leave some unmarked essays on my desk - "

Sirius let out a bark of laughter and yanked on the hand he was holding, pulling Remus off balance.  For a moment or two they grappled with each other playfully, then Remus got a firm hold of him around the shoulders and pulled him down until they were lying flat on the sand and he had Sirius's head resting on his shoulder.  Sirius relaxed against him at once and they lay there quietly for a while.  Remus was conscious that it wasn't a particularly sunny day; the sky was obscured by fragmentary clouds, and the air was cool and damp with moisture that was less suggestive of sea spray and more of impending rain. 

It didn't matter.  They were here, they were together, he had Sirius in his arms once more and they were both free.  It had been a long twelve years during which it had seemed like he was marking time, waiting for something he simply couldn't put a name to.  He had never expected anything good to come of his life, and there had never been anything resembling hope; only a never-ending series of short term, menial jobs that barely, just barely kept body and soul alive.  He had not expected anything more.  The meaning of his life had been taken out of it and transported away to a place that he had spent a great deal of his time symbolically facing towards thereafter - the North Sea and Azkaban, for many of his jobs had been seasonal hires on the north-east coast.  He supposed that in real terms he had simply been waiting to hear that Sirius had died - the average lifespan for a 'lifer' in Azkaban was around twenty years at most - although he still had no idea what he would have done if that message had reached him.

"You won't do anything rash, will you?" his mother had asked him, in a rare moment of empathy after the sentence had been announced.  It had been less a question, more a demand, and one he had agreed to out of numbness more than anything.  The concept, the true meaning, of life imprisonment hadn't yet sunk in at that point and so it hadn't been hard to put aside the thought of ending things.

He suddenly wondered what Kingsley Shacklebolt had done with the vials of poison entrusted to him in case the hearing had gone awry.

"Do you remember our honeymoon?" Sirius asked abruptly.

And just like that, the mood of gentle melancholy was broken.  Remus tried to suppress a laugh at the images that instantly sprang to mind, but felt his stomach jump and Sirius shake with silent mirth in response.

"Ah yes," he said solemnly, but with a quiver in his voice.  "The lovely, salubrious resort of Skegness.  Much beloved of Muggles from the towns and cities of Yorkshire when they get an inexplicable urge to go to the seaside.  Two days of dubious seaside delights and rampaging boredom before we gave in and bolted for civilisation - "

"Where would could at least go and see a movie or something when we got fed up of shagging and quoting dodgy poetry to each other," Sirius finished for him.  "Whose suggestion was it that we went to Skeggy anyway?"

"Buggered if I know.  Kind of joke Prongs like to play on us - not that I can imagine how he knew about Skegness in the first place.  Not the kind of resort I can see his family patronising, can you?"

There was a pause, then they both said "Lily!" and laughed.

"Anyway, there's nothing dodgy about the Song of Solomon," Remus pointed out reproachfully after a moment or two.

"'I am black, but comely, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, as the tents of Kedar, as the curtains of Solomon'," Sirius quote gravely, but the corner of his mouth was twitching.  "'Thy hair is as a flock of goats, that appear from mount Gilead.  Thy teeth are like a flock of sheep that are even shorn, which came up from the washing - '"

Remus thumped his shoulder gently.  "Oy - you've got a cheek, calling my hair goaty after I had to cut all yours off.  And stop mixing up the text!"

"I'm trying to avoid the bit about leaping upon the mountains and skipping upon the hills.  I don't have the energy for that right now."

"Apparently you have the energy for _His left hand is under my head, and his right hand doth embrace me_ though."

"'A bundle of myrrh is my well-beloved unto me; he shall lie all night betwixt my breasts …'"

Remus kissed him then - deeply, fiercely, as he had wanted to kiss him ever since he saw him in corridors of Hogwarts that night, ragged and half-mad and consumed with obsessive purpose.  As he'd wanted to kiss him for so long but had had no opportunity.  As he should have kissed him before they dragged him away to prison.

When they finally came up for air again, Remus rested his forehead against Sirius's and closed his eyes.

"'By night on my bed I sought him whom my soul loveth: I sought him, but I found him not,'" he quoted.  "'I will rise now, and go about the city in the streets, and in the broad ways I will seek him whom my soul loveth: I sought him, but I found him not.'"  His breath hitched for a moment and he felt Sirius's fingers curling into the folds of his shirt.  "'The watchmen that go about the city found me: to whom I said, Saw ye him whom my soul loveth?  It was but a little that I passed from them, but I found him whom my soul loveth - '"

"'I held him, and would not let him go,'" Sirius finished for him in a bare whisper.  He paused, then added, "'His mouth is most sweet: yea, he is altogether lovely.  This is my beloved, and this is my friend, O daughters of Jerusalem.'"

Remus lay back in the sand, holding Sirius closely to him and staring blindly up at the drifting cloud formations above them.  His mind had for days been on a permanent looping litany of things that had to be done, but now it was suddenly still and calm and quiet.

 _This is my beloved, and this is my friend._

Such simple, expressive words that said absolutely everything that needed to be said about them.  Twelve years of slowly bleeding to death inside had been halted; God had been merciful and given them back to each other.  What would come next was largely unknown, but for the first time in many years Remus felt a deep spark of full-bodied anticipation.  It might be madness - for now they had nowhere to call home, money was in question, it was likely that they were both now unemployed and unemployable, and there was an emotionally damaged teenager with a legal right to demand shelter from them - but he couldn't bring himself to feel a particle of concern about it.  He _welcomed_ these problems with a relish he hadn't felt in too long, for to take life on the chin together had once been the whole point of their relationship … and at last would be so once again.

"I could stay out here all night," Sirius murmured.  "Air, sky, no walls …."

"We could," Remus agreed, "except that I can smell rain coming, and there's food and clean sheets inside the cottage."

"Will it all still be here in the morning?"

There was a note of curiosity in Sirius's tone and Remus wondered if he was also thinking of everything that waited for them in the world beyond the cottage.  If he was, he too seemed quite unconcerned about it and Remus smiled.

"Every last bit of it," he said contentedly.

 **End of Book I**


	2. Book II: Grimmauld Place

**Book II: Grimmauld Place**

 

 **Part 4**

Unfortunately, in order to reach the following morning one has to pass through the night.

The writing was on the wall, Remus realised later, when Sirius became anxious and jumpy during dinner.  He enjoyed preparing the cottage for their stay - the domesticity of pulling dustcovers off the furniture and putting sheets on the bed was so far outside his recent experience that he enjoyed them far more than at any other time in Remus's memory.  He liked helping Remus to cook the dinner as well, but by this time the evening was growing dark.  They ate, but Sirius was already restless before the dishes were on the kitchen table and his eyes kept flicking to the uncurtained window as he toyed with his meal.

Remus wanted to ask him if he wasn't hungry, but resisted the impulse; he strongly suspected that the answer - almost certainly that Sirius had grown accustomed to smaller portions in prison - would involve extra details that he didn't really want to hear about.  Nor was this simple cowardice on his part.  He doubted Sirius needed to talk about those things just yet, not when he was clearly on edge.

Instead he said, "You're safe here, you know."

Sirius's eyes flicked to him.  "I know."

Remus put his fork down, feigning a calm he didn't entirely feel.  "You can go outside whenever you want to."

"I'm all right."

"Of course.  Finished?"  At Sirius's mechanical nod, he gathered up the plates and went to put them in the sink.  "Fancy an apple and a cup of tea to finish off?  We can take it outside if you like, there's a bench around the side of the cottage and even a lamp, I think."

"Moony, I'm _all right._ "

But Sirius was noticeably calmer once they were sitting outside.  The breeze had a decided nip to it now, but Remus would have borne far greater hardships in order to see his partner relax.  And in the dim light and multitude of shadows created by the lamp, it was almost possible to fool himself for a short while that the past twelve years had been a horrible nightmare that he had miraculously woken up from.  The light was kind to Sirius's face, briefly erasing the hollows and making him young again.

 _Not that either of us is old, but there's more than one kind of aging_.  Remus hoped it would be possible to reverse the worst of the damage done in Azkaban.  He had no idea how to begin, but his earlier optimism hadn't left him yet.  Patience, he counselled himself.  A way to move forward would present itself; he believed this because he had learned long ago that there was never any way but forward in life.

Settling into bed gave the first inkling that it was going to be a rough night.  Sirius was fine while he was washing, brushing his teeth and dubiously pulling on a pair of pyjamas, but when it came to climbing between the sheets he became very tense.

"Want me to leave a light on?" Remus asked him, then wondered irritably if it was possible to say _anything_ in this situation that wouldn't sound like an innuendo.  The last thing he wanted to do was put any kind of pressure on Sirius, even unintentionally.  He had no expectations of this night but sleep.  He hoped he didn't need to spell that out.

"I'm fine," Sirius muttered, and he crawled slowly into bed.

Curiously, he took the side he'd always taken when they lived together; Remus wondered if this was pure coincidence.  He got into bed on the other side as matter-of-factly as he could and settled himself, thumping the pillow into shape.  Part of him was waiting for Sirius to grab his own pillow from under his head and throw it to the end of the bed, then join Remus on his, as he would have done when they were young.  It didn't happen.  Sirius lay down on his back, head on the pillow, every muscle stiff with anxiety that Remus's werewolf nose could literally smell.  He was holding the covers tight to his chest like -

 _\- like a Victorian virgin,_ James Potter's cheerful voice obligingly supplied inside Remus's head.  Silently cursing his late, lamented friend and his sense of humour, Remus reached out and dimmed the lamp, although he decided to leave a hint of light, just in case.  Then he resolutely turned onto his side to face Sirius and reached out to squeeze his arm gently.

"You're safe here, Pads," he said, pretending he didn't feel the flinch under his hand.

"I know."  His eyes were squeezed shut and the muscles of his jaw bunched tight, though.

Remus wished there was something he could do to ease the situation, but nothing came to mind.  The best he could do was try to relax and sleep himself, and hope that it would encourage Sirius to do the same.

If only sleep would come.

 

~~~

 

"The sheets are too clean … it all smells wrong …"

"It's going to take time to get used to things being normal again.  Lie down, Padfoot.  Please."

"I can't."

And yet he did.  Not for the first time, nor yet the second or even the third.

Remus buried his frustration deep and held the covers open for him.  Sirius slid between them, no longer tense with anxiety but with a kind of restless, wordless, undirected anger.  His movements were snappy and sharp with it and when he lay down again and pulled the covers over himself, there was an air about him as though he was defying something by doing it.  Perhaps he was defying himself; Remus didn't know.  All he knew was that Sirius hadn't been able to lie still for more than fifteen minutes so far.  First it had been the light to set him off; then it was the lack of it.  Next the lack of noise - although what noise he was expecting to hear Remus didn't know and didn't want to know.  Now it was the cleanliness of the sheets.  He was expecting Sirius to admit that actually it was the bed or him in it next.

It was no good.  For both their sakes he had to air that last option now, rather than wait for Sirius to say it.  He didn't want Sirius to upset himself more by having to say it, for there was no doubt in Remus's mind that he _would_ be upset if he did.

"Would it be easier if I slept somewhere else tonight?"

"No," Sirius said at once, and every muscle in his body seemed to lock up tight.

"Are you sure?  Pads, it's all right if you can't handle this just yet.  You've slept alone for twelve years - "

"Don't leave me alone.  Oh God, Moony, don't leave me alone!"

"All right, all right, I'm not going to leave you.  I just had to ask.  We'll do this whatever way is best for you, okay?  Whatever you need.  I'm not going anywhere if you don't want me to."

"I just … it's all so different …"

Had it been this way for him while he was in Auror custody, during the trial?  Dear God, had he rested at all?  But perhaps the locked door and Spartan conditions had been enough.  He was accustomed to imprisonment, after all, to bars on the windows, locks on the doors and guards in the passage outside.

"You _will_ get used to being free again," Remus said gently.

"It wasn't like this when I was on the run."

Of course not, he'd been out in the open air then, not to mention driven by the all-consuming need to save Harry.  But he couldn't sleep out on the beach now, even for one night; practical considerations aside, it wouldn't solve anything, only delay the inevitable.

"You'll be fine.  Just give it time."  If his muscles got any tighter he'd break a bone.  "Try to breathe, Pads."

"I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to apologise for," Remus said firmly.

It seemed to take hours but eventually, utterly exhausted, Sirius did manage to fall asleep.  And that was when the nightmares started.

~~~

The worst of it, Remus thought the following morning, as he drank his tea standing in the doorway and blearily watched the waves, was only hearing part of the story.  There was a good chance he would never know anything more; certainly he wasn't about to ask.

Sirius was asleep now - proper, deep sleep, undisturbed by the horrors of the past twelve years.  Remus had left him curled up in a vaguely doglike manner under the covers.  Twice during the night he'd even spontaneously changed shape, as though that was the only way he could rid himself of his dreams, but he was a man again now and towards dawn he had calmed enough to rest.

Remus wasn't fooled.  The dreams would be back at some point.  Probably sooner rather than later; it would take more than one night of safety to rid Sirius of his demons.

Some of it had been predictable.  Sirius had wept bitterly for James and Lily at one point, sobbing his childhood friend's name with such grief that Remus had wept himself even as he tried to comfort him.  But there had also been anger - for Pettigrew and others - and frantic muttering as he worked out his fears for Harry. 

And then there had been the rest of it.

Remus had always known, somewhere at the back of his mind, that Sirius didn't actually hate his family.  He might throw the word around, but his feelings towards them were far more complicated than that.  Amid the anger and resentment was a lot of grief and bewilderment and hurt, and nowhere was that complexity of feeling expressed more than towards his younger brother, Regulus.  Regulus, the 'loyal' son, the Slytherin, the one who had done everything their parents had wished, who had joined the Death Eaters and been sent to Azkaban where he later died.

There had been a rumour in the Order of the Phoenix quite late in the war, mere weeks before the deaths of James and Lily Potter, that Regulus Black was looking for a way to escape the Death Eaters.  Sirius had pooh-poohed it, as Remus recalled, although he had also agreed quite readily to act as a contact point for his brother if the rumour turned out to have substance to it.  After Sirius's arrest and Regulus's own capture by the Aurors, Remus hadn't known what to think.  The two things had happened fairly closely together, although Regulus had been kept in custody and sentenced a week or two after his brother due to the brouhaha over the Potters and the Longbottoms.  The general opinion of those left of the Order was that as a secret Death Eater himself, Sirius had lured his brother into a trap.  While this didn't fit the facts (the Aurors had caught him almost by accident, with no intervention from Sirius at all, and in any case the usual punishment for a traitor to Voldemort's cause was death), it had certainly raised some questions about Sirius's role in the matter.

It had come as a surprise when Sirius told him and Dumbledore that Regulus had been put in the cell next to his own in Azkaban, but Remus now knew that the positioning of the cells had allowed them to see each other and talk.  Sirius had spent part of his dreams pleading with his sibling to talk to him and not hurt himself.

 _He shouted for a few days, before he realised that'd just make the Dementors pay special attention to him_ , he'd said to Remus and Dumbledore.  Those words, together with the things Sirius had said in his sleep, provided a sinister glimpse of what must have become of Regulus Black.

Remus stared into his mug for a moment, remembering him; a slender, dark, good-looking boy, a blurred copy of his older brother.  He'd been the Seeker on the Slytherin Quidditch team.  Good at Potions; not so good at Transfiguration.  Played a mean game of Gobstones.

It wasn't much of an epitaph.

Remus sighed and went back indoors.

~~~

Sirius got up around noon and they spent the rest of the day quietly.  Remus could remember a time when going for a stroll along the beach would not have been active enough for Sirius; there would inevitably have been frenetic activity of some sort - swimming, playing fetch as Padfoot, building sandcastles, having sand-fights.

Now he seemed content to walk and enjoy the fresh air, and while he was reluctant to talk about his own past ("There's nothing to say.  It was prison."), he was interested in Remus's.  Remus struggled a little with what to tell him, and how much.  Some of it he preferred not to think about too much anyway, and there was no point in agitating his partner with stories of the hardships he'd suffered under various changes to the werewolf legislation, or the sporadic harassment from both Ministry officials and MLEs.  In the end he mostly talked about the time he'd spent among Muggles (until that too had been made illegal for werewolves), which was amusing and varied enough to keep Sirius's attention.

Then Sirius turned back to the subject of Harry, wanting to know everything Remus knew about the boy.

"Is he much like James?" he asked again, and Remus struggled once more with an answer.

"I don't think so," he said, unable to be anything but honest about it.  "He seems quieter to me, a lot more self-reliant.  I don't think he's found it easy to make friends at school.  His reputation preceded him, of course, and things have happened to him in a very short space of time that have probably made his life more difficult.  There was the Quirrell incident, for example, and then that business with the Chamber of Secrets - "

"What business?" Sirius demanded, startled.  "Chamber of Secrets - I thought that was just a legend!  Moony?"

So Remus told him the bare bones of the two stories - which admittedly was all he knew himself.  "It seems to me that Harry is destined to be followed by trouble, whether he actively seeks it out or not," he commented at the end of the narrative.  "I wouldn't like to speculate on whether this year tops finding a basilisk or not, but it definitely adds to his notoriety, I'm afraid."

"Give it a rest!  Facing a basilisk and winning at twelve years old?  How brilliant is that?  James would be as pleased as punch!"  Sirius was grinning, utterly delighted by his godson's exploits, but Remus could only wonder if Harry shared that delight.  Impossible to tell, but in order to enjoy such a 'success' at that age a boy needed friends to appreciate his achievements.  He hadn't observed Harry hobnobbing with any intimates during the school year, and he'd been watching the boy as closely as he could.

"The notoriety is the issue, Sirius," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that people didn't take well to the idea of him being a Slytherin," Remus said.

Sirius snorted.  "I'm not surprised!  How in the name of Merlin's great frilly bloomers did that happen?  Harry's no more a Slytherin than I am!  In all the history of the Potter family I don't believe there's been a Slytherin among them."

"You'd know more about that than me, I'm sure," Remus said dryly, "but it seems a little unlikely that even the Potters were a hundred percent Gryffindor."

"All the recent ones were, I'm sure."  Sirius grimaced.  "So much for the insight of the Sorting Hat.  He must be like a phoenix in a fish-tank in Slytherin."

Remus decided not to give an opinion on this.  "Anyway … people didn't take to the idea.  There was a lot of interest in him when he first started school - not surprising given that he effectively disappeared after Lily and James died.  Dumbledore's right on that point, no one would ever think to look for him while he lived with the Dursleys."

Sirius scowled.  "I still can't believe he's living with Petunia Evans and that horklump she married.  Surely there must have been better options?  What about his trustees?  I know he has them; James showed me the documents after his father died."

"Dumbledore, old Pettifer and Mo MacDuff."  Remus sighed.  "I haven't heard from Mo in years.  As for Pettifer - he was at your trial, but that's the first time I've seen him since Henry Potter's funeral.  People like me don't rub shoulders with the _patresfamilia_.  Dumbledore took the matter into his own hands, Sirius, and by the time they'd taken you away and I fully understood everything that had happened, it was too late.  Harry was already with the Dursleys and when I tried to protest the Ministry pointed out - none too kindly - that I didn't have a leg to stand on legally, and Dumbledore told me it was all for the best anyway."

"Christ …"

"Let it go.  We were talking about Harry's notoriety."

"Why do you keep getting that note of doom in your voice whenever you say the word?"

"Because I think he's suffered for it."  Remus grimaced.  "You didn't see the newspaper articles last year.  At the first hint of trouble, Lucius Malfoy was whipping up the press and school governors, and the stuff that was coming directly out of the school - "

"Someone _inside_ the school talking the press?" Sirius demanded.  "Let me guess - Snivellus?"

"No.  Be fair, Sirius - he had nothing to gain from it.  No, Minerva McGonagall told me on the quiet that she believed Malfoy's son was the source, which makes sense because he shares a dormitory with Harry."  He glanced at Sirius questioningly.  "You do remember that Malfoy and your cousin Narcissa had a boy a month or so before Harry was born?"

"Slippet mentioned it when they were drafting my will."  Sirius's lip curled and he kicked at a tussock of tough sand grass moodily.  "Marvellous - Harry sharing a room with the son of snakes.  How wonderfully safe that must make him."

"If you were to believe the _Daily Prophet_ , it was the other boys who were at risk from Harry."  Remus took a breath, for Sirius's words had reminded him of something about Harry and he had no idea how Sirius would take the news.  "Harry's a Parselmouth, by the way."

"He's _what?_ "  Sirius was stunned.  "Moony, that's …"

"The ability to speak to snakes, I know."

"Where the hell did he get that?" Sirius demanded.  "He can't have got it from Lils, she was Muggleborn, and I never heard of any Potter having it!  The gift of Salazar Slytherin himself - "

"Dumbledore thinks he got it from Voldemort," Remus said, more to stem the tide of Sirius's outrage than anything else.  Unfortunately this piece of evidence proved to be a bit of an own goal; Sirius only grew more agitated.

 _"How?"_

"You should discuss that with Dumbledore," Remus said.  Decidedly this was too much information for his partner to deal with in one conversation.  Time to rein back.  "Which reminds me - I must go up to the school in the next few days and discuss what's to be done about my position there.  Will you come with me?"

"Of course."  Sirius remained tense though.  "Obviously I need to have a chat with Dumbledore myself.  And I need to see Harry."

Remus badly wanted to warn that Sirius should be careful in how he approached Harry … but now was not the time to have that particular conversation, not when he was so wound up.  He tried to think of something else to say, and remembered one of Sirius's remarks just before they left the Ministry.

"You were going to speak to Ron Weasley as well, weren't you?"

Sirius relaxed, diverted.  "Yes - I should replace his rat.  He shouldn't have to lose out just because his pet turned out to be … not a rat.  You must know a bit about him.  Would he want another rodent, or should I get him something else?"

That was interesting.  Was that rather obvious omission of Peter's name deliberate, and if so what did it mean?  Perhaps nothing.  Remus let it pass.  "I can't claim to know nearly enough about Ron to guess at what he'd like, but I know he'll appreciate the gesture, whatever you do.  The Weasleys have never been well-off and he lives in the shadow of his older brothers."

"I'd better see if I can have a word with him too, then.  Perhaps he'd like a cat for a change.  They're useful and intelligent animals."

Remus smiled.  "His friend Hermione already has one that's been driving him mad for much of the year - although now we know why I suppose.  He was after Ron's rat for a good reason."

Sirius raised a brow.  "That big, ugly ginger tom called Crookshanks?  He's more of a kneazle, that one.  I swear the only reason he didn't actually talk to me was because he thought I'd be too stupid in dog shape to understand him."

They both chuckled and to his relief Remus could feel the atmosphere lightening a little.

"Come on," he said, tucking his hand into the crook of Sirius's elbow.  "It's getting nippy again out here.  Let's turn back and get a hot drink."

~~~

An owl was waiting for them when they returned to the cottage, and it bore two letters.  One was from Andromeda Tonks, briefly saying that the family solicitors had arranged to send mail to Sirius care of her for the time being until he let them know otherwise.  She hoped that they were both all right and reminded them that they were welcome at her house at any time.  The second, much thicker, letter was enclosed with this, and was from Shoester and Slippet.  It contained a copy of Sirius's official pardon from the Ministry, along with an explanation of the wording which Remus immediately sat down to read through from beginning to end, twice.  He only looked up from the document when Sirius held out a mug.

"Why, thank you, Padfoot!" he said archly, raising his brows in mock-surprise, and Sirius wrinkled his nose at him; a painfully familiar and much-missed expression.

"I haven't forgotten how to boil a kettle, Moony!" he said.

Remus chuckled, but accepted the mug gratefully.  Then the smell hit his nose.  "I _know_ I didn't buy coffee yesterday."

"There was a bag at the back of one of the kitchen cupboards."  Sirius sat down next to him on the couch and took a sip from his own mug.  "Ah - nectar of the gods!"

"I doubt it," Remus said.  "If it was already in the cupboard, then it could have been there since my brother's last visit."  He took a wary sip.  "Fortunately, I don't have a taste for coffee - it all tastes equally bitter to me."

"And I haven't tasted it in twelve years, so I'm not complaining."  Sirius sighed.  "I could live off the smell alone - this is civilisation for me."

Once again, Remus resisted the urge to ask questions about Azkaban.  One day he might be able to, but for now he felt it was better to let Sirius talk about it when he chose.  Instead he said, "Oh yes, I haven't forgotten Sirius Black's personal standard of civilisation - or the gold you used to blow on it!  Why anyone would pay those prices for something which was ground up from a bean that had passed through the intestines of a civet cat, I'll never know."

"You would if you'd bother to waste the kind of attention on coffee that you give to tea," Sirius retorted.  He caught the look in Remus's eye.  "Not that there's anything wrong with tea.  I like tea as well.  It's just that coffee is on a different level."

"Different.  Not better!"

"Finish your reading!"

"I have, actually."  Remus folded up the papers and handed them back.  "Put in words of one syllable - you're a free man.  Completely and unconditionally.  Admittedly, it's couched as a pardon - which annoys me, because you were wrongfully and falsely imprisoned without so much as a trial - but according to your solicitors' notes, there's no other legal mechanism for this situation because the Ministry has no statutory appeal process and no formal means of admitting fault in these circumstances."  Bitterly, he noted, "That says a lot about our wonderfully superior form of civilisation, doesn't it?  The Ministry has no legal method of admitting that it's wrong or has made a mistake once a sentence has been pronounced.  So instead of being discharged without a stain on your character, you get a pardon that's worded in such a way as to grant you the favour of being set free on the grounds that you didn't do anything wrong in the first place.  Your solicitors note, however, that they wrangled an extra paragraph which also ensures that the pardon can't be retracted in the future.  If, at some point, the Ministry or its agents have reason to believe that you are, in fact, guilty of the crimes you have been pardoned for, they'll have to present sufficient evidence to the Wizengamot and try you all over again."

"Which means the Ministry would have issued the pardon without that paragraph, if old Shoester hadn't insisted on it.  They could have retracted it at any time."

"It sounds like it."

Sirius grunted his disgust and drank down his coffee.

"What did the covering letter say?" Remus asked after a moment.

"They've begun looking into recovering my family's property and in the meantime they await my further instructions."  Sirius handed the sheet of parchment over.  "I'll write them a list of things, starting with Harry and my Gringotts vault.  I'm going to need the gold in that vault."

"Good thinking."  Remus tapped the copy of the pardon.  "I know they've kept the original of this, but you might want to stash this copy, with the explanations, in your vault when you can.  Insurance, just in case something happens."

Sirius raised a brow.  "Something unforeseen like - oh, I don't know - a fire in the Ministry records office?  Or a fire at Shoester and Slippet's offices?  Or both, even?"

"Something like that.  Now tell me I'm paranoid."

"It's not paranoia when they really are out to get you, Moony."

Remus shrugged.  "I have a nasty, suspicious mind.  It comes of being a dangerous, dark creature, you know."

"I'm not surprised when …"  Sirius stopped, looking uneasy.

"Padfoot?"

"I …"  He put his mug down and sat back, suddenly looking rather pale.  He pressed a hand cautiously to his stomach, then rapidly transferred it to his mouth.  "I think I'm going to throw up," he muttered indistinctly and bolted for the back door.

Remus followed more slowly, but when he found Sirius around the corner of the house he was bent over, retching miserably.  From the look of things, it was mostly the coffee that had made a reappearance; he used a scouring charm to clean up the mess.

"Here, Pads, wipe your face."  He passed his partner a damp cloth and Sirius straightened up, applying it to his face with shaking hands.  "Looks like the coffee wasn't a good idea."  Sirius made a distressed sound, as though just the mention of it made his stomach turn over again.  "Sorry - here, sit down on the bench and I'll get you a glass of water."

"I should have thought of that," Remus said, when he returned.  "I suppose there are things your stomach isn't used to and you'll need to be careful for a while."

"Could have been the cheese on toast for lunch," Sirius muttered, leaning his head back against the wall.

"That was several hours ago.  Unless it's food poisoning, you'd know by now."

"Damn it."

Remus resisted the urge to grin at his peevish tone.  As a young man Sirius had often seemed to live on nothing but coffee, cigarettes and fresh air.  Twelve years of deprivation had surely broken the addiction to nicotine, but apparently caffeine's allure was as strong as ever.

Sirius was clearly thinking along very similar lines.  "Got a fag, mate?"

Remus laughed aloud.  "Not a chance!  Too expensive a habit for a penniless werewolf, I'm afraid!"

"Great," Sirius grumbled, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

Remus rummaged in his pocket and found a slightly linty packet of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum.  "Gum?"

"Thanks, but I'll pass."

"Probably just as well.  Mango flavour."  Remus tucked it away again.  "I won't ask you what you fancy for dinner, hm?"

"You don't have to rub it in, you lousy, no-good, tea-drinking pervert!"

"Coffee's bad for you anyway."

"Blasphemy!"

"And so's smoking."

"Anything else?" Sirius asked dryly.  "Sex maybe?"

"I'm out of practice for that," Remus noted, smiling, although he was a little surprised that Sirius had brought it up.

"So am I, oddly enough.  They haven't slapped a public health warning on it while I've been gone, have they?"

"Several, no doubt, but I assure you I've been faithful - "

"I know you have."  Sirius's voice was suddenly constricted and he stared out across the beach.  "God knows why.  I don't deserve it."

"I'm not sure I get the logic behind that," Remus said.  He reached out, clasping Sirius's hand.  "You didn't do anything wrong, Padfoot."

"But you didn't know that."

Remus was at a loss for a moment.  "My lover is a murderer and Death Eater and spending the rest of his life in Azkaban, so I might as well screw around?" he asked incredulously.  "It doesn't work like that - _I_ don't work like that.  It's all part of the werewolf bond, I'm afraid.  We cleave to one mate and one mate only."

"Moony - "

"They watched me for several years, you know," Remus interrupted.  "Aurors, MLEs and some other individuals - whoever _they_ were working for.  They made sure I knew they were watching, too, just in case I got ideas about trying to break you out of prison.  It did cross my mind once or twice, irrational as that might seem.  The fact that you betrayed James and Lily and murdered Peter, not to mention all those Muggles, didn't mean a lot to the wolf.  You were in there and I was out here, and that was an unnatural state of affairs which all my instincts tried to tell me I should be setting right."

It was Sirius's turn to look lost for words.  "Would have been suicide to try …" he managed.

"I know.  That seemed like a good idea a few times, too," Remus mused.  "I got over it though - another thing I have the wolf to thank for, I think.  Not many werewolves commit suicide, you know, despite the horror of the condition.  The wolf's instinct is to survive."  He smiled a little.  "And look!  Here we are."

"Here we are," Sirius echoed.  He sagged a little where he sat, his expression bleak.  "Twelve years older and not much to show for it."

"Twelve years wiser," Remus said firmly, determined not to let Sirius's mood slip into depression if he could help it.  It wasn't a dominant aspect of his character, but he was capable of rare fits of very trying pessimism, and the only way to deal with it was to refuse to allow him to wallow.  "And I like to think that having you here with me is _something_ to show for it."

But Sirius suddenly seemed overwhelmed by it all.  "Christ, Moony, everything's such a mess.  What are we going to do?"

"Well, I thought I'd peel a few spuds for dinner," Remus said, "and weren't you going to do a note to Shoester and Slippet?  Get it done before Andromeda's owl decides to head for home and he can deliver it for you on the way."  He stood up briskly; Sirius remained where he was.  But Remus was still holding his hand and after a moment he gave a gentle tug on it.  "Come on, Padfoot.  One step at a time."

Sirius got up and followed him into the cottage.

~~~

The next few days were an interesting combination of sleep deprivation, mundane everyday tasks, and strange encounters with the rest of humanity.

Although he relaxed a little when he went to bed, Sirius continued to suffer nightmares and sleep disturbance.  Remus had forgotten his teenaged propensity to sleepwalk when stressed; there was nothing particularly difficult about this, for Sirius could be steered back to bed without even waking, but broken sleep was broken sleep, and combined with the bad dreams in the early part of the night, it made for two very tired men during the day.

Remus made no complaint, clinging to the conviction that Sirius would get over it in time; they just needed to be patient.  In the meantime, life had to go on and on the third morning they paid a visit to Shoester and Slippet's offices in Diagon Alley to discuss such matters as money, godsons and wills.  Sirius's solicitors were ready for him by now and the key to his Gringotts vault was waiting for him - which was just as well, because Remus was starting to worry that they didn't have enough clean clothes between the two of them to last more than a day or two.  Sirius needed to replace his entire wardrobe.  Better news was that the vault was well-stocked, the Ministry having failed to confiscate the contents which had then, over twelve years, accumulated quite a bit of interest.  They would be able to clothe and feed themselves and put a roof over their heads, at least for the foreseeable future.  A draft of Sirius's new Will was also ready for inspection.

The question of Harry was, on the surface of things, less complicated than Remus had feared.  Sirius's solicitors had approached Blight, Blunt and Skinnards, the Potter family's solicitors, and both legally and magically the matter was cut and dried; under wizard law godparents had an obligation towards their godchildren in the event of close family members being rendered unavailable - and as Harry was a member of a First Family, his Muggle relatives were not included in the definition of 'close family'.  In any event, his father's Will (and grandfather's for that matter) clearly specified how Harry's affairs should be managed.  Sirius and Remus were designated his legal guardians, and he had three trustees to manage his inheritance until he came of age; Professor Dumbledore, his grandfather's closest friend Petuarius Pettifer, and Lily Potter's best friend Morag MacDuff.

Interestingly, Blight, Blunt and Skinnards had professed themselves quite comfortable with the proposition that Sirius should take on Harry's guardianship.  It was impossible to say precisely how the representatives of that venerable and dignified legal firm had expressed themselves, but Shoester and Slippet's interpretation was that the Potters' solicitors were not comfortable with the idea of an unknown quantity like a Muggle aunt having control of their young client.  So the fly in the ointment was likely to be Dumbledore, who had made all the decisions for Harry in the wake of his parents' deaths.  The solicitors had spoken to him as soon as Sirius had made it clear that he was prepared to take on his responsibilities to the boy, but the headmaster had made it equally clear that he didn't agree.

"He has significant concerns over the arrangements for young Mr. Potter's safety," Barnabas Shoester explained.  "While he was not particularly forthcoming about the details, I understand that the current arrangement with the, er, Muggle aunt provides certain conditions of security for the boy which cannot be met elsewhere."

"I find that hard to believe," Sirius said flatly.

"Sirius, we both know Dumbledore," Remus said.  "He doesn't say these things for the sake of it."

"I feel I must agree," Shoester said, eyeing his client warily.  He had many decades of experience of the Black temper.  "While it does seem rather unlikely that a Muggle household could hold any advantages over a wizard home, I feel it would bear fruit to discuss the situation with Professor Dumbledore before taking the matter further."

"We did say we would talk to him about it," Remus added softly.  "He's expecting us to go up to Hogwarts at the first opportunity."

For a moment it was impossible to say which way Sirius would go; his jaw was clenched in the most unpromising fashion.  Then abruptly he relaxed and nodded.  "All right.  We'll talk to Dumbledore."

Remus offered up a silent prayer of thanks and the two solicitors visibly relaxed too.

"In that case, Mr. Black, I'll set the file concerning Mr. Potter to one side for the moment, but keep it in readiness for your instructions," Shoester said.

"Now sir," Aloysius Slippet said, taking over.  "With regard to the Black estate, there has been some progress.  As we expected, the Ministry have declined to discuss the confiscations on the grounds that your brother inherited everything upon your father's death.  Of course, this was not the case.  As you were never formally disinherited, you were the _de facto_ heir and consequently everything must be returned to you now that you have been formally pardoned.  In the case of your bank vault, this was your own property, not part of the family estate, and as Gringotts contested the right of the Ministry to confiscate the contents - they always do - it has been returned to you immediately and the Head Goblin has furnished you with a new key.  Unfortunately, however, we will have to serve formal papers on the Ministry for the return of everything else.  The liquid assets will be the most problematic, I suspect.  While the Ministry has been unable to compel Gringotts to surrender the keys so far, they _have_ successfully blocked access to the vaults by anyone else.  This will take some time to reverse."

Sirius gave him a rather twisted smile.  "Not keen to give up vaults full of gold if they can help it, eh?"

"Just so, sir."  Slippet was a rather dried-up-looking prune of a man and his expression seemed to grow more sour as he contemplated the subject at hand.  "Not that the gold was ever theirs to take, but you may be sure they will argue that point.  I believe we may be able to put some pressure on them with regard to the properties involved, though, especially number 12 Grimmauld Place.  As you pointed out at our first meeting, the house belonged to your mother rather than the Black estate, and as she was still alive when your brother was imprisoned and died, it passed directly to you.  The Ministry was unable to serve formal notice of confiscation upon the property in any case, as your parents' protections upon it rendered it invisible to them."

Sirius's smile widened a little at this, although it still wasn't a cheerful expression.  "Well, that'll be useful if we get desperate for somewhere to live.  We'd have to be desperate though.  I'm amazed it hasn't fallen down from neglect by now."

"I believe there is still a house-elf in residence, if it hasn't died in the meantime," Shoester noted.

Sirius twitched.  "Ah yes - Kreacher."

His tone made Remus nervous.  "Sirius?"

"Kreacher's the house-elf at Grimmauld Place.  He never leaves there - it's his job to look after the place when we go to the Manor for the summer and Christmas."  Sirius grimaced.  "I supposed I've inherited him too, along with the house."

"It would seem so, sir."  Slippet rustled some papers rather unnecessarily.  "As regards the Manor, formal notice wasn't served there either as, once again, the protections on them prevented any of their agents finding the house.  I predict that the Ministry will agree to surrender both properties without much argument, but we shall see.  We expect to hear from them within the next ten days regarding these matters and we will, of course, update you regularly with our progress."

~~~

"Where to next?" Sirius said, when they were standing in the lobby of the solicitors' offices.  "Hogwarts?"

"Gringotts," Remus said firmly.  "I hate to be crass, but we need money and I don't have more than a Sickle or two left to my name."

"Good thinking."  Sirius's brow furrowed in an odd expression.  "I keep forgetting everyday stuff," he said abruptly.  "Moony ... poke me if I slip up?"

It took Remus a moment to realise what he was admitting to.  Someone who for twelve years had worn the same set of prison rags day in and day out, gone unwashed, and had his food doled out for him at regular intervals, was going to have to switch mental gears to remember to do these things for himself.  He would need to redevelop the mental reflexes.

"Of course," he said, and he smiled a little.  "In that case, let me remind you that you're wearing my shirt and trousers again.  As soon as we've been to Gringotts, we need to buy you some new clothes."

For a moment Sirius looked blank, then his face lit up.  "Jeans?"

"Certainly.  And t-shirts and shirts and underwear and robes and - "

Sirius laughed.  "We can get some new gear for you too, while we're at it.  Those tweed bags and braces are making _me_ feel old."

"Not nearly as urgent as sorting you out," Remus demurred.  "Come on, let's make a move while there's a slim chance of not having to queue."

Diagon Alley was predictably busy when they left the solicitors' office and stepped onto the street.  Remus had assumed that Sirius's current appearance was far enough removed from the convict photographs that had been splashed over the newspapers and Alley notice boards, that the general public wouldn't readily recognise him.  He had not counted on Rita Skeeter's tabloidal zeal, however.  In the short space of time since Sirius's release, the pages of the _Daily Prophet_ had been splattered with sensational articles and copies of photographs snatched inside the Ministry at the trial's conclusion.  Sirius was now recognisable and recognised, and they barely made it to the doors of Gringotts before a crowd had gathered.

Remus felt a surge of gratitude, then, for the goblins of Gringotts.  The doorman took stock of the situation as they approached and admitted the two of them, but promptly stepped in front of the doors and blocked the entry of the rubberneckers with a harsh cry of "Only _genuine_ clients of Gringotts today, thank you!"  This bought them enough time to approach the first teller and present their key; by the time a new surge of people had been admitted to the bank, Sirius and Remus had already been escorted off to one of the carts that led to the vaults below.

Remus was very conscious of Sirius's tension and ragged breathing as they took their seats in the cart.  He was sweating a little himself, and cursing himself for not having given proper thought to the full ramifications of this first outing.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

Sirius's grip on the side-rail of the cart was a little more white-knuckled than necessary, despite given the speeds they were travelling at, and he looked grey to Remus even in the odd lighting of the tunnel, but he nodded grimly.  "Fine," he bit out.

There wasn't much Remus could do but accept that, so he let it go for the time being.  By the time they reached Sirius's vault there were more immediate concerns anyway.  Sirius - who had never suffered from any form of travel sickness before in his life - had to spend a few minutes leaning against the wall and fighting off nausea.  Their escort, Spikemere, took a nasty kind of enjoyment from this, but there was no point in taking umbrage; goblins were simply like that.

"Key," he demanded abruptly, when it seemed that Sirius might be able to stand up by himself again, and the vault door was opened.

Sirius took a moment to regard the neat piles of coins.  "Well, it'll keep us going for now," he commented.

It looked like a fortune to Remus, who never had more than a single Galleon in his pocket at a time, but he was only too aware of how quickly money could melt away under the expenses of everyday life, so he made no comment.  Instead he helped Sirius to gather up a decent quantity in a money pouch, reminded him to deposit his copy of his pardon in the vault before it was locked up again, and then they made their way back to the cart.  Sirius seemed to deal better with the return trip, but he baulked momentarily at having to go out into the crowded lobby of the bank.

"Just a few minutes longer," Remus encouraged him, steering him towards the Exchange desk.  "You're going to need Muggle money for where we're going."

"Muggle money?"  Sirius was mercifully distracted from the multitude of eyes that seemed to be following them.  "What - "

"In a minute, Padfoot.  Change the money; then I'm Apparating us out of here."

~~~

Remus had more experience shopping in the Muggle world than he would readily admit to, even to Sirius.  Aside from the exchange rate generally being favourable (there was a lot to be said for wizard money being made of solid gold, silver and copper, rather than alloys), Muggles could afford to sell such necessities as clothing far more cheaply simply by virtue of mass manufacturing.  Magical clothiers made their goods in small amounts and by processes that Muggles would certainly classify as "by hand", which made them comparatively more expensive.  There was no electricity in the magical world, the nearest equivalent being a tricky and temperamental charm called the Universal Energy Spell which was only suitable for use in very limited and small-scale circumstances; looms and sewing machines existed, but they were operated by hand or treadle or, if one didn't mind having to constantly supervise them, certain charms.  Animation, which could power them easily and consistently, was a very rare magical gift and consequently not used.

As a result, shopping in the Muggle world wasn't just the practical choice for someone in Remus's position; it was almost the _only_ choice if he didn't want to have to choose between clothes and a week's food.  The broad range of stores, the wide variety of choices and prices, and even the plethora of charity shops, was all that made it possible for him to look reasonably respectable much of the time.

It was taking a risk, however.  While the average magical citizen could get away with it, the werewolf laws made it easy for the Beasts Division's operatives to limit Remus's ability to move around both inside and outside the magical world if they chose, and they didn't have to give a reason.  They'd chosen to do just that only a couple of years previously, when he'd taken a job with a Muggle bakery.

The risk was justified on this occasion, Remus felt.  Although large numbers of people still made him anxious Sirius was much calmer once they left Diagon Alley, and the pressure of eyes on him, behind.  Besides, they weren't heading for the middle of London but rather calmer locales where they could do their shopping in peace.  This still had its problems (it only took Sirius half an hour to rediscover his peacock streak and become picky about what he bought) but by the time they headed back to the cottage once more, they were laden with bags.  Even Remus had given in to Sirius's demands and chosen some new gear.  They would still have to make a trip to Madam Malkin's or Gladrags for robes - probably the latter, as they would be passing through Hogsmeade on the way to Hogwarts - but there was nothing to be done about that.

"We could do with our old school trunks to put everything in," Remus joked, as he put the kettle on for tea.  He said it to thin air, for Sirius had disappeared to the bedroom to change out of his borrowed togs, but perhaps that was just as well.  As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Remus remembered where their trunks were.  Frowning thoughtfully, he took two mugs down off a hook and spooned tea into the teapot.

"Did you say something?" Sirius asked a few minutes later, wandering into the kitchen barefoot wearing a new pair of jeans and buttoning a crisp cotton shirt.

"Thinking out loud," Remus said.  He held out a mug.  "Tea.  Well … those look more like you!"

Sirius lifted one foot, regarding his jeans wryly.  "Bellbottoms went out of fashion, I suppose?"

"I'm afraid so.  Velvet and spangles clung on a little longer, but mercifully died a death too."

"Oh well.  What were you thinking about?"

"Keys," Remus said.  "You had the keys to our old lock-up, didn't you?  I suppose the Aurors confiscated them when they arrested you."

Sirius shrugged.  "They must have - they were on the ring with my bike keys."

Remus raised his brows.  "Did they take the bike, then?  We'll need to remind Shacklebolt if so, it should all be returned to you with the rest of your things."

"No, Hagrid took the …"  Sirius blinked.  "I told Hagrid to take the bike," he said, and his face brightened.  "He was at the house in Godric's Hollow and said he had orders to take Harry to Dumbledore, or something like that.  I told him to take the bike because I wouldn't be needing it."

"I wonder if he still has it?"

"We'll ask him tomorrow."

"If he still has the bike, he still has the keys," Remus said, pursuing his original thought.  "I don't remember anyone saying anything about the lock-up when they took you in, but I couldn't go back there anyway because I didn't have a key and my name wasn't on the lease.  You know, our stuff could still be there.  School trunks for a start.  My printing press."

"All my tools for the bike and the sidecar," Sirius added.  "Probably some crap from just about everyone we knew, as well.  Didn't Fabian Prewett leave a box with us?  And Marlene McKinnon."  He raised his voice to a vaguely feminine pitch.  "Just for a week, Remus, until my sister's boyfriend's cousin's best friend's niece gets back from Majorca …  Right soft touch, you are."

Remus managed a smile, but the mention of Marlene and Fabian took the humour out of the joke.  They were both dead, and he knew Sirius knew that but it was entirely possible that he'd forgotten for a moment.

"Well, that's another thing to check as soon as we can," he said instead.  "We should start making a list.  In the meantime, what do you fancy for dinner?"

Better to change the subject, really.

 

 **Part 5**

"May I say how delighted I am to see you here and a free man once more, Sirius?" Dumbledore said, regarding the two of them over the top of his half-moon spectacles as they took chairs in front of his desk, and smiling a little.

"Thank you, sir, but I don't think the rest of the populace agrees," Sirius noted wryly.

"Indeed?  Well, the newspaper coverage of your release _has_ been a little slanted, it must be said.  The general truth of the matter is in there, but hidden under a great deal of bluster and speculation.  It will take a little time for more rational attitudes to prevail.  Tea?"

"Thank you, Headmaster," Remus said quietly.

"Not at all, my dear fellow."  Dumbledore waved his wand and a tea tray appeared.  "Yes, I'm afraid that while Cornelius Fudge is taking most of the credit for your release, Sirius, that doesn't mean he has to be entirely gracious about it."  Another flick of his wand and the teapot began to pour.  "You are not useful to him, dear boy, and unlikely to become so, so it suits him to permit others to continue to foment suspicion against you.  Against both of you, I'm afraid."

Remus's eyes, until now determinedly focussed elsewhere, suddenly flicked to his face.  "Sir?"

"I feel it best to break this news to you at once," Dumbledore said to him gravely.  "The Board of Governors convened yesterday and an overwhelming majority insisted upon your dismissal from the post of Professor for Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"What!" Sirius snapped, sitting up straight.

Dumbledore hesitated for a second.  "It would seem that word has leaked out to some of the parents that Professor Lupin is a werewolf," he said carefully.  "As yet I am unsure precisely how this happened, as there is no evidence to suggest that any of the pupils are aware of Remus's condition.  I have my suspicions, of course, but suspicions are not fact, and in any case the name of the culprit will not change anything; the vote was taken and the motion passed.  I'm very sorry, Remus," he said to the other man, and his genuine regret was evident.

Remus shrugged, resigned.  "Not a great surprise, really, Headmaster, however disappointing.  It was always a risk.  Will I get my salary for the last couple of weeks I worked?"

"I will ensure that you do," Dumbledore said, with a certain emphasis that made it clear that someone had clearly raised this point with him already.

"Thank you."

"Not at all.  You are entitled to be paid for your work."

There were plenty of people who wouldn't agree with this statement, but that was hardly news to Dumbledore so Remus contented himself with nodding and letting the matter drop.  Dumbledore passed around the cups and followed them up with a dish of little cakes.

"About Harry, sir," Sirius said, determined not to be derailed from his primary purpose.

"Ah yes.  As today is Saturday, there should be no problem in arranging for you to see him."

"Sirius was hoping to have a word with Ron Weasley as well," Remus added.  "There's the matter of replacing his, er, pet."

"Gryffindor have Quidditch practice today," Dumbledore said calmly.  "Mr. Weasley is their reserve Keeper.  He should be free soon though."

"I've spoken to my solicitors about my legal status as Harry's guardian," Sirius said, undeterred.

"And your solicitors have spoken to me, as one of his trustees," Dumbledore said.  "I am well aware of the legal position, Sirius.  While I was not taken quite so completely into James's confidence, I was a signatory to Henry Potter's Will after Harry's birth, and according to Blight, Blunt and Skinnards James chose not to tamper with his father's arrangements."

"Then there's no problem with me taking on Harry's guardianship now I'm available."

Dumbledore regarded him with steady blue eyes for a moment.  "Am I correct in thinking that we all wish to do our very best for Harry, regardless of our personal feelings?  And that his safety must always be the paramount consideration?"

Sirius might be hot-headed, but he was far from stupid.  He detected the trap in the Headmaster's words immediately.

"You believe I'll be placing him at risk if he comes to live with me?"

Dumbledore smiled gently.  "Certainly, if you continue without anywhere permanent to live yourself."

"We're working on that," Remus put in, feeling he should say something in support of his partner.

"Of course.  But it isn't merely a case of having somewhere to live, but also of ensuring that the place itself is suitable."

Sirius eyed him warily, then sat back and sipped his tea rather deliberately; Dumbledore smiled amiably in return and helped himself to a cake.  Remus wondered if this was about to descend into the kind of Mexican standoff from their school days wherein Dumbledore would maintain a bland and kindly silence until one of them became unnerved enough to blurt out something rash and revealing.  As a teacher's disciplinary technique it couldn't be bettered, although he suspected one had to be a twinkly-eyed centenarian with a taste for boiled sweets to carry it off.

"Headmaster, perhaps it would be helpful if you could tell us what you consider to be the safest environment for Harry?" he suggested.  "We can hardly hope to provide the right home for him unless we know what's required."

Looking at Dumbledore, he had the distinct feeling that there was a great deal running through the professor's mind at that moment, although his expression remained smooth and untroubled.

"You mentioned something about _benign blood magic_ the morning after we caught Wormtail," Sirius said, surprising Remus a little.  He hadn't remembered that himself and certainly wouldn't have expected Sirius to.  "I'm a little sceptical about the wording of that, sir.  Everything I know of blood magic - " and his lips twisted a little over the words "indicates that it's not _benign_ at all."

"Certainly under British magical law, blood magic is almost never considered legal," Dumbledore agreed.  "Ethically ... there has been much debate over the centuries as to whether blood freely shed for the good of others should be included in the ban.  The general feeling is that while in principle it may be permissible, in practice there is entirely too much room for coercion.  This is an irrelevance in Harry's situation, however.  Lily Potter gave her life voluntarily to save her son and her sacrifice ensured that while he may call the place where her blood dwells his home, he cannot be touched by those who wish him harm."

"So in practical terms?" Remus prompted.

"In practical terms, while Harry lives under the same roof as his aunt and cousin, he is safe.  Lord Voldemort - or his followers - cannot cross Petunia Dursley's threshold or physically lay hands upon Harry.  To do so would almost certainly result in their own deaths, as Professor Quirrell discovered when he attacked Harry during his first year here at Hogwarts."

"And what happens when he's not under Petunia's roof?" Sirius asked.

"Professor Quirrell attacked him here at Hogwarts," Dumbledore said.  "And as I mentioned, the attempt was fatal.  He touched Harry and his body was ... reduced to dust is the best way to describe it, I think."

"And what would happen if the attack was made from a distance?  A Killing Curse, for example?"

"Impossible to say, Sirius, but the last person who cast the Killing Curse at Harry was Lord Voldemort and as he was, in some manner, reduced to a spirit without physical form, I would not like to hazard a great sum of money upon the probable outcome.  Would you?"

"I'm not prepared to gamble on Harry's life at all," Sirius said.  He put his teacup down and folded his hands in his lap.  Remus wondered if Dumbledore noticed that this was not as casual a gesture as Sirius would like them to think.  "As I see it, he's guaranteed safe only so long as he's inside Petunia's house or the attacker makes a direct physical assault on him.  Once he's out of the house, he's fair game for anyone reckless enough to get within hexing distance of him.  There were plenty of Death Eaters stupid enough to volunteer to die for Voldemort, after all."

"And that's supposing it's a human that goes after Harry," Remus observed, trying to keep his tone neutral and scholarly.  "Would he be vulnerable, for example, to a werewolf on a full moon?  I know better than anyone that there were werewolves on the Death Eaters' side last time.  And we already know that Harry is vulnerable to Dementors."

"I didn't try to claim that the blood protection is infallible," Dumbledore said mildly.  "I merely note that it provides considerable protection for him without the need for an unacceptable level of interference in his life."

"In fact, it would be fair to say that _no_ provision for his safety would be perfect?" Sirius pushed.

"We live in an imperfect world," Dumbledore agreed.  "Which is not an excuse for failing to strive towards perfection, of course."

There was a pause.  Dumbledore selected another little cake and nibbled on it, quite unruffled, while Sirius thought things over.

"All right," he said finally, "here's how I see it.  For any attempt on Harry to be made, a potential attacker would have to know where he is.  How widely known is it that he lives with his aunt?"

"Not widely."  The twinkle was returning to Dumbledore's eyes as he looked at Sirius, and Remus got the impression that he was enjoying the discussion purely for its own sake - not in a malicious way, but taking pleasure from encouraging a very bright (former) pupil to exercise his intellect.  "Of those who know that he lives with his family, only a few know of the exact location.  Myself, Severus Snape and Minerva McGonagall, and a few individuals at the Ministry, I believe."

"If one person at the Ministry knows, then anyone else who wants to find out shouldn't experience much difficulty in obtaining the information," Remus said, unable to help the sour note in this observation.  There was no point in also adding his personal reservations about Severus Snape, for it would only set Sirius off, but he had his suspicions about who had broadcast the information about his lycanthropy to the school governors.

"My thoughts exactly," Sirius said.

"Your lack of faith in the Ministry is understandable," Dumbledore admitted.  "Your point, gentlemen?"

"If we could make Harry's location unfindable, would that make you more comfortable with us taking him in?" Sirius asked.

"You propose to make use of an Unplottable Charm?  I'm reluctant to put a damper upon anyone's ingenuity, but the charm does not work on living entities."  Dumbledore smiled apologetically.  "I should explain that I wasted considerable effort as a young man upon attempting to modify the charm for that purpose.  The Unplottable Charm requires a stationary object - usually a house - for it to operate successfully.  Objects that can move, especially of their own free will, remove the necessary foundations for the charm's stability."

"I wasn't thinking of making _Harry_ Unplottable - although that'd be neat if it could be done."  Sirius was momentarily diverted by the thought.  A little amused, Remus cleared his throat softly and recalled his partner's attention to the matter at hand.  "Oh!  No, I was thinking about a house.  Old Shoester was telling us about how the Ministry couldn't confiscate the Manor or the house at Grimmauld Place because my mother made them Unplottable.  If we could make a place effectively unfindable and stick up some decent wards - the possibilities are endless with wards, really - would you be happy for Harry to live with us then?"

"The dwelling is not the only consideration," Dumbledore reminded him.  "Harry will not always be inside your house."

"No, sometimes he'll be at Hogwarts."  Sirius gave him a challenging look.  "Don't take this the wrong way, Professor, but I hear he's been attacked at least twice already here at school.  There was a teacher possessed by Voldemort, a basilisk, Dementors ... and let's not forget the Weasley boy's pet rat living here quite happily since Harry started school."

"Touché!" Dumbledore said, smiling.

"And the fact is," Remus put in, "that he's a teenaged boy, when all's said and done.  You can't lock him up for his own safety, and if you try to hem him in too far he'll just rebel, which could potentially be more dangerous still."

"All excellent points," Dumbledore agreed.  "But we are still talking hypothetically, are we not?  As matters stand you have no home to offer him.  If I might venture a suggestion, Sirius, Remus, you should first find a place to live - for yourselves, if nothing else! - and then look at making it secure.  You have until the end of the summer term to convince me."

"And if we don't?"  Sirius's mild tone held a note of challenge that Remus remembered only too well from their own school days.

"This is a civilised discussion between friends, Sirius," the Headmaster reminded him gently.  "Three friends who have nothing but Harry's welfare at heart.  I refuse to believe that between us we can fail to find an acceptable solution."

For a second Remus was afraid that Sirius might not take this in the spirit it was obviously intended; his chin came up and his jaw seemed to clench pugnaciously, as though in response to a threat.  But it passed almost at once, to be replaced by the newer, worn look of a man thrown out of his own time.

"Of course," Sirius said tiredly.  "In that case ... perhaps I could see him?"

~~~

Dumbledore suggested that they meet Harry in the little garden reserved for the Headmaster's private use, and after a message had been sent to the boy they made their way down there.  They encountered only a few pupils on the way, for which Remus was grateful; Sirius was still a little jumpy around large groups of people, and even in the quiet back stairs and corridors he was rather quiet and drawn-looking as his eyes ran over the once-familiar environs of the school.

Then they emerged into the sunshine and he relaxed almost at once.  The gardens might still have that ragged and half-prepared look of any cultivated area in spring, but there was fresh air, warm sunlight and a light breeze, and Remus already knew how much better being outdoors made Sirius feel.  Harry was waiting there, looking a little uneasy, and his expression was perhaps understandably wary as he watched them approach. 

Remus deliberately held back, standing with Dumbledore at the edge of the garden as Sirius strode forward confidently to meet his godson.  He was, after all, just a teacher to Harry and explanations would have to wait for a more seasonable moment.  Not for the first time, however, he found himself surveying the boy's clothes and wondering why on earth he looked like such an ... an _orphan_ when he wasn't in school uniform.  Everything he wore was the wrong size and worn to the weft.

But without the Slytherin uniform to distract him, Sirius was all smiles as he approached Harry.  Harry offered a cautious hand, relaxing at the lack of criticism in his godfather's greeting, and found that hand used to pull him into what was all too obviously an unfamiliar hug.  For a moment he was stiff with surprise and alarm, then he relaxed a little.

"That's one of the things that bothers me about Harry," Remus said quietly to Dumbledore.  "Perfectly normal gestures of friendship - and kindness - seem to leave him at a loss, as though he's never encountered the like before and expects it to be a cover for something less palatable.  He's so ... closed off and defensive.  How did that happen?"

There was a definite hesitation before Dumbledore replied.

"I suspect there has been reactionary and bigoted behaviour on the part of his relatives," he said, at length.  "You and Sirius are clearly familiar with Mrs. Dursley, so it will not surprise you to hear that she is ... somewhat intolerant of the wizarding world.  She has her reasons, no doubt.  But while she was induced to accept Harry into her household when the Potters died, there were incidents during his childhood - perfectly normal magical accidents common to our children - that she had no experience of coping with and which she found personally distressing.  And of course, he is a teenager now and sometimes he struggles to contain his stronger emotions.  You will perhaps recall that there was just such an incident before he returned to school this year, when an argument with his aunt's sister-in-law led to an unfortunate situation requiring the Obliviators."

Remus certainly did remember it.  The subject had come up in the staff room, much to the amusement of some of his colleagues, but he hadn't found it quite so funny given what he knew of Petunia.  Fortunately the Ministry's fright at Sirius's escape had made them more than ordinarily lenient towards Harry, or the matter could have been much more serious.

And none of this addressed his main concern.

"Has Petunia abused him?" Remus asked directly, trying hard to keep the sharp note out of his voice.  "Because if she has, we need to know."

"Physically - I think not.  She isn't wholly ignorant of magic, after all, and she must surely realise that physical abuse could prove dangerous.  Emotional abuse, however ..."  Dumbledore's voice trailed off and he sighed, shaking his head.

 _Marvellous_ , Remus thought.  His limited experience of Harry told him that there was probably a lot going on underneath the boy's closed-off wariness, but it was impossible to say how badly the abuse had affected him.  It would explain his apparent complete lack of trust in adults, though.  Remus wondered if this was something that could be reversed.

He and Sirius were currently getting along better than Remus had expected.  Admittedly Sirius seemed to be doing most of the talking (about brooms and Quidditch, to judge by the enthusiastic hand gestures), but Harry was paying attention and, interestingly, watching Sirius's face intently as he talked.  One of the things Remus had noticed about the boy when they first met was his reluctance to look people in the eye, especially adults; he had a habit of focussing on something else when he spoke, rather than make eye contact, although once they began their Patronus lessons together the direct focus had suddenly been there and almost unnerving in its intensity.

At length Sirius gestured towards him and Dumbledore, and the two of them walked over. 

Remus smiled at the boy.  "Hello, Harry."

"Hello, Professor."

"I'm afraid I'm not a professor anymore," he told him.  Harry responded well to directness, he'd learned.  "How about you call me Remus from now on?"

Harry ignored this.  "They've sacked you, haven't they?"  His eyes flicked accusingly to Dumbledore for a second and there was sharp anger in them.  "Is it because you're a werewolf?"

How to respond to that?  Better to be calm and cheerful, he thought, rather than feed the flames.

"That bit of information got around quickly!  Well, you have to admit that it's a fairly alarming prospect for people who don't know much about werewolves.  And most people don't, you know."

"It stinks," Harry said bitterly.  "You're the best Defence teacher we've ever had!"

Remus couldn't help a chuckle at this.  "Thank you - I'm conceited enough to hope that I _do_ compare pretty well to Gilderoy Lockhart!"  He heard Dumbledore chuckle at this too.

"Who's Gilderoy Lockhart?" Sirius demanded, intrigued.

"Oh no - I've been saving that story, and a set of his books, for the right moment!  Don't spoil the surprise by telling him, Harry!"

For a moment Harry looked perplexed, then he realised that he was being invited to share a joke and his face brightened.  The rare grin made him look just like his father.

 _Except that James would have understood that it was a joke straight away,_ Remus thought, then he scolded himself for it.  _He doesn't need two of you comparing him to James!_

One thing Harry did share with his father was a certain tenacity; he wasn't about to be deflected from the main issue.  "What are you going to do?" he asked.  "Will it be difficult for you to get another job?"

 _Almost impossible._   "Don't worry about that," Remus said with another smile.  "I'm not going to starve on the streets, I promise."

"Not if I have anything to say about it!" Sirius added firmly.  He squeezed Harry's shoulder gently.  "Don't worry, I'll see him right."

Harry nodded, satisfied.  "And I can really come and live with you?" he asked Sirius directly, although Remus was amused to see that he had one eye fixed challengingly on Dumbledore as he said it.  The Headmaster only smiled.

"That's the plan," Sirius said.

Remus mentally congratulated him on his wording, which offered reassurance without absolutes.  "Of course, we don't actually have anywhere to live at the moment, but we're working on that."

Harry looked surprised.  "We?"

"Yes, I'm invited to join the household.  You don't mind, do you?"

"No - that'd be great."  He clearly meant it too, which was a pleasant surprise.

"In that case, this would seem to be a good moment to explain that I'm your other godfather."  Remus gave the boy an apologetic look.  "I suppose I should have told you when we first met on the train, but there didn't seem to be much point when the werewolf laws don't allow me to exercise any of my rights as a godparent.  It seemed like the best way I could be of use to you was as your teacher, so that's what I did.  Forgive me?"

James would have told him not to be stupid and that there was nothing to forgive.  Harry, however, gave the matter his careful consideration, which visibly disconcerted Sirius.

"Those laws need changing," he said finally, a comment which made everyone smile.

"Indeed, and we all hope they will be one day," Dumbledore said.  "Now ... Remus, it seems rude to say this so soon, but you must have things you wish to collect from your rooms before you leave.  How would it be if you do that, while Harry helps Sirius to locate Mr. Weasley?"

"I was going to suggest that myself," Remus replied.  "I need to sort out my papers  and hand over the lesson plans for the rest of the year, and I think I'd better release my Grindylow into the lake before I leave.  I'm not sure what to do about the Boggart, though - it'd be a bit unkind to leave him in my office for the next occupant to find.  Is there a suitable cupboard or wardrobe for him somewhere?"

"I believe I know just the place," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling.

~~~

"So, where do you think the best place would be to look for Ron Weasley?" Sirius asked Harry, digging his hands into his jeans pockets as they strolled along.

"Gryffindor just had Quidditch practice, so we could try the changing rooms," Harry suggested.

"Okay.  That's a nice walk around the grounds.  We could stop by Hagrid's hut as well, I need to see him."

Harry agreed to this and they set off along one of the broad gravel paths that ran around the outer walls of the castle.  For several minutes there was an uncertain silence, then the boy asked, "If you don't have anywhere to live yet, where are you staying?  Where did you live before you went to prison?"

"I had a flat in London," Sirius replied easily.  "Shared it with Moony, as a matter of fact."  The temptation was to say more on this subject, but Remus had warned him before they arrived to be careful about how he broke their relationship to the teenager.  Harry needed to be a lot more comfortable and used to them before they told him that.  "Of course, when I was sent to Azkaban the place got cleaned out and Moony had to find somewhere else.  We're staying at a holiday cottage his parents own at the moment, but we're looking for somewhere permanent."  He smiled at Harry.  "Don't worry, we'll sort something out.  Reckon your aunt'll mind you coming to live with me?"

"No," Harry said flatly.

"Oh."  Sirius was disconcerted all over again by the way Harry said this.  "Well ... that'll make things simpler.  Looks like Hagrid's in," he noted as they approached the hut.  There was smoke drifting out of the lopsided chimney, and Hagrid's enormous boarhound began to bark when he rapped on the door with his knuckles.  Then the door flew open and Hagrid's great whiskery face peered down at them, surprised.  Sirius smiled up at him ruefully.  "Hullo Hagrid!  Remember me?"

"Blimey - Sirius Black, as I live an' breathe!  An' Harry!"  Hagrid beamed.  "Come on in, then!  Plenty enough tea fer two more, I reckon.  Go on back with ye, Fang ..."

Entering the hut was a bit of a struggle, with Fang trying to make them both welcome at once, and when they were inside they discovered that they weren't Hagrid's only guests.  A lanky red-headed boy and a girl with bushy brown hair were sitting at his table, but they scrambled to their feet when they saw the new visitors.

"This makes things a bit easier," Sirius said, pleased.  "We were going to look for you next," he told Ron Weasley.

Ron looked startled at this, and he didn't seem to know what to say.  Fortunately, the girl with him wasn't at a loss for words.

"Hello, Mr. Black," she said eagerly, offering a hand to shake.  "I'm glad the Ministry discovered what really happened and set you free.  You must be really happy."

"You know what, I think I am," Sirius said cordially, shaking her hand.  He shot an enquiring look at Harry, but Harry seemed to have clammed up in the face of the other two and Ron didn't seem much better.

The girl glanced at the pair of them, looking fleetingly annoyed, then turned back to him.  "I'm Hermione Granger - I'm in Gryffindor with Ron."

"Ah!  You're Crookshanks's human, then!  He was a great help to me, you know - very intelligent cat."

"He is that," Hagrid said, bringing two immense cups of tea to the table.  "More than a bit o' kneazle in him, I reckon.  Sit down then, you two, we're all friends here."

Sirius got the impression that this was stretching the point for Ron and Harry, but there was nothing to be done about that.  He sat down at the table and the others had no choice but to follow his lead.

Sirius smiled across the table at Ron.  "The thing is, I feel a bit bad that you lost your ... pet ... over this business.  I don't suppose it - he - was good for much, but still ...  I, er, I wondered if I could replace it.  Him."  He wished he didn't keep stumbling over the rat in conversation.  It was easier not to think of it as a person, but Sirius had a suspicion that some people might find that a bit odd.

Ron looked even more startled, if such a thing was possible; his fair, freckled skin flushed pink and he shot a glance first at Hermione and then, rather more quickly, at Harry.  Harry, however, was keeping all of his attention on his tea and seemed intent on pretending he wasn't really there.

"Doesn't have to be a rat," Sirius persisted.  "Could be a cat ... owl ... toad ... or ferrets are fun ...  I don't think Professor McGonagall would appreciate a Crup much, mind you."

"I think they're against school rules," Hermione said, clearly trying to fill the gaps in the conversation.  She gave Ron a none-too-subtle nudge.  "Ron?  How about a cat?"

Ron licked his lips nervously.  "I reckon Crookshanks is enough for one house," he ventured.

Sirius grinned.

"Reckon what you really need is an owl, Ron," Hagrid said, blowing small waves over his basin of tea to cool it.  "That Errol of yer mum's is gettin' on a bit."

"And Percy doesn't allow anyone else to use Hermes," Hermione added.

Ron's face brightened, then clouded over.  "I don't know that Mum'd like it - there isn't really room for an owl cage in my room at home."

"Depends on the owl," Sirius pointed out.  "I'll see what Eeylops can do by way of a small owl.  And thank you - if W-wormtail hadn't been cosying up to you for years, we might never have caught him."  He offered his hand and Ron shook it, looking bemused.  "So - I hear you're a Keeper?  I was a Beater myself, but ..."

They didn't stay at Hagrid's for long; Sirius was keeping an eye on the time, for he and Remus planned to visit a couple of shops in Hogsmeade before they headed home, and in any case Harry seemed to have nothing to say to the others.  Sirius found this difficult to understand, for James had been outgoing and gregarious and wouldn't have allowed something like house differences to silence him.  As they were leaving the hut, however, Harry suddenly said in a constricted tone "Won't be a minute ..." and he darted back inside. 

Sirius heard him say "Weasley, wait a minute," but the rest of what he said to Ron was unclear.  There was a pause, followed by voices, and suddenly Ron's voice was quite audible and angry.

"Are you taking the piss, Potter?"

"Ron!"  That was Hermione, sounding shocked. 

Harry's response was an indistinct mumble.  Then Ron again:

"You can get lost!  I didn't do it for you!"

"Here!  What's all this about?" Hagrid said sharply.  "That'll do!  Now, Harry - "

The door of the hut slammed open and Harry stormed out.  Expecting to see a face like a thundercloud, Sirius was taken aback yet again by the blank control of his expression, which was completely at odds with the rest of his body language.

"Harry?  What was that about?"

"Nothing," Harry said curtly, and he took off up the path without bothering to wait for Sirius.

~~~

"He's a teenager," Remus said, when Sirius related this incident to him.  He was feeling a little stressed as they walked to Hogsmeade, set on edge by his abrupt departure from the school and the upsetting business of having to hand over his lesson plans and pack up his things.  Harry's spats with his yearmates were insignificant by comparison to the many other concerns on his mind at that moment.  "They all argue and fall out, and if you'd spent several months teaching them you wouldn't think anything of it, I promise."

"I don't understand him, though," Sirius persisted.  "Moony, he sat there like a mute - he had _nothing_ to say to them!"

"I'm not surprised.  He's a Slytherin and they're Gryffindors - I don't suppose Ron had much to say to him either.  Well, how chatty would you have felt, back in the day, if you were forced to take tea with Snape and Regulus?"  Sirius's stiff silence made him sigh inwardly.  "Sorry - that was a bad analogy.  But there's never been any love lost between the two houses, Padfoot, you know that.  Besides, there's probably house _and_ family loyalty involved - Harry's housemate is young Malfoy and there's bad blood between his father and the Weasleys."

Sirius made an odd rumbling noise reminiscent of a canine growl.  "Harry?  Support the Malfoy spawn?  Like hell!"

Remus really didn't feel up to dealing with this.  "Did you sort out a replacement for Ron's rat?" he asked instead.

"An owl," Sirius said, his mind clearly still on other things.  "A small one."

"Well, that's manageable enough.  Makes a nice change from wondering what we're going to do about somewhere to live."

"Finding somewhere to live isn't the problem," Sirius said.  "It's racking up the protections enough to satisfy Dumbledore.  How good are your warding charms?"

"Pretty good - they have to be," Remus noted wryly, thinking of the various protections he'd had to employ over the years to prevent his escape on full moons.  "I've been refreshing them lately too, since the sixth and seventh years have been covering household protections in their NEWTs."

"We'll need something a bit better than that.  Have you ever done an Unplottable Charm?"  Sirius was momentarily diverted.  "Hey, what about making a person Unplottable?  That'd be a trick if we could work it out."

Remus struggled with himself for a moment.  While it was tempting to point out that if Dumbledore couldn't do it then it was unlikely they would either, he was reluctant to cut short something which was guaranteed to keep Sirius mentally occupied for a space.  Fruitless ruminations on experimental charms were better than pointless raging about school house conflicts, after all.

"It would," he agreed, as cordially as he could manage.  "Just don't forget about proper household charms while you're researching it.  Don't forget about the house, if it comes to that."

Sirius snorted.  "No fear!  I'll talk to Andromeda and see if she can recommend an agent.  Should we look for a place in a Muggle area or would you prefer to be around other magical people?  Town or country, for that matter?"

"Neither," Remus said.

"Neither?  You want to live in the suburbs, like Pe- like some of the people we went to school with?"

There it was again, that tiny hesitation over Peter's name.  Remus didn't know what to make of it, but supposed it was natural enough that Sirius might want to avoid talking about the friend who had betrayed them both.  On the other hand, what if it was the symptom of some deeper issue?

 _You'll drive yourself mad, and him with you, if you keep thinking like that. And you have enough problems already without looking for more._

"Actually," he said out loud, in a musing tone, "I rather had a fancy for a houseboat …"

As he'd expected, the idea delighted Sirius but for once it was he who came up with the practical objections. 

"Even if it was permanently anchored, you'd never get an Unplottable Charm to stick on water."  He considered it for a moment, as they hopped over the stile and stepped onto the main path into Hogsmeade.  "Pity.  How do you feel about a lighthouse?"

Joke or no joke - he couldn't tell from Sirius's tone - what Remus actually thought about a lighthouse was that it would provide all too many reminders of being locked up in a certain prison in the North Sea.  He wasn't about to say that, of course.

"You’d never get it connected to the Floo network.  We'd have to keep a boat to get to and from it, and I suffer from seasickness …"

Sirius blew a raspberry at him.  "And what did God create Apparition for?"

Hogsmeade was busy; Saturday had brought out all the shoppers and dawdlers.  In a way this was a good thing, for there were so many people about that nobody really paid much attention to the two of them as they made their way towards Gladrags.  They paused outside the shop for a while, studying the various robes while debating what Sirius really needed in that line.  Two customers exited the shop rather quickly, closing the door behind them with a heavy clunk, and Remus joggled Sirius's elbow gently.

"Come on, let's see what they have inside."

But when they reached the door it wouldn't open and Remus saw that the "Closed" sign had been put up.

"Bit early for them to close, isn't it?" Sirius remarked, surprised.  He looked around for the clock tower further down the high street, which was showing that it was barely past three o'clock.

Remus felt a sharp, cold sensation in his stomach, one that he was all too familiar with.  But no - that was paranoia, surely.

"Perhaps the owner has other business," he commented, and he hoped his voice didn't sound as odd as he feared.  "We'll have to come back another time, or try Madam Malkin's.  Come on, we need some groceries before we head back."

Intellectually, Remus knew that he only possessed hackles one night a month, but he didn't know what else to call the sensation that lurked at the back of his neck as they walked through the village to Pottagers The Grocers.  All he knew was that it wasn't just his imagination; once again people were watching them as they passed, and he could tell from the stiffness in Sirius's shoulders that he knew it too.  Other customers shrank back as they stepped inside the crowded little greengrocery and as they approached Albert Pottager, the owner and shopkeeper, he squared his shoulders although he couldn't - quite - meet Remus's eyes. 

Remus wasn't surprised.  It was less than a fortnight ago that he'd last been inside the shop, listening good-humouredly to the little grocer's happy chatter about his two year old grandson.  Whatever the man was about to say, there had to be some level of discomfort in it for him; Pottager wasn't the kind of man who could easily rebuff someone he'd recently gossiped with.

Which wasn't to say he wouldn't do it anyway.

"You'll have to leave," he said with a fair assumption of authority, although his voice shook and his eyes were fixed on Remus's right shoulder rather than his face.  "I don't serve your sort here."

"What sort would that be?" Sirius demanded indignantly.

"Sirius …" Remus began, but Pottager interrupted him.

"Criminals and - and animals," he said stoutly.  There was a faint gasp from one of the other customers and the bell above the door jangled discordantly as someone left in a hurry.

 _"Animals?"_   The dangerous note in Sirius's voice was alarming, even after so many years.

"Sirius," Remus said more sharply, willing him not to say anything else.  Then he turned back to the grocer, forcing his most kindly, non-threatening expression onto facial muscles that didn't much want to cooperate.  "Mr. Pottager, you've served me before without any problem.  And you must know that Mr. Black here has been fully exonerated by the High Court.  So what's the problem?"

"We don't serve your sort in here," Pottager repeated doggedly.  He still wouldn't meet Remus's eyes, but he flinched backwards when Sirius made a sharp move.  Remus was quicker; he seized Sirius's arm in an iron grip, hauling him back.

"You heard the man - he doesn't serve your sort," a harsher male voice said from just behind them.  " _Nobody_ in Hogsmeade serves your sort.  So get out and don't come back."

Remus looked around and his heart sank even further.  Those customers who remained were of the bulky, menacing, curse-happy sort - the kind of wizards he'd had unpleasant run-ins with more than once.  He wasn't stupid and he wasn't reckless with his own welfare, and his instincts told him that even if he and Sirius left quietly now, they would be very lucky to get out of the shop unscathed.

He could feel his wand loose and accessible in his sleeve and fortunately he wasn't carrying anything (his few meagre belongings from Hogwarts were being conveyed to the cottage by one of the house-elves, on Dumbledore's insistence).  If it did come to a fight - and he really hoped it wouldn't, as much for Sirius's sake and Pottager's business as anything else - he would at least be able to give a good accounting of himself.

It didn't come to a fight.

The bell over the door rang once more and Professor McGonagall walked in.  As he braced himself where he stood, Remus saw that just her presence was enough to defuse the situation.  Hulking grown wizards were reduced in the blink of an eye to shuffling schoolboys under her sharp glaze, and even Pottager seemed a little relieved to see her.

It was highly unlikely, of course, that she didn't guess what was going on.  Nothing had ever got past her - not Sirius's cheeky charm, James Potter's smooth talk and winsome smile, Peter's startled innocence, or Remus's quiet reluctance.  But if she knew what was really afoot, she said nothing. 

"You'll be here for your marmalade, Professor McGonagall ma'am," Pottager said, hopping to fetch it, and the other men melted away.

"Not at all, Albert.  Serve your other customers first," she replied cordially.  Remus told himself that he was imagining the stern look she gave the shopkeeper as she said it, but if he was then Pottager was sharing the delusion.

So they ended up buying their groceries there after all.

"Don't hurry away, gentlemen," Professor McGonagall added, as the two of them gathered up their parcels.  "You'll be Flooing from the Three Broomsticks, of course?  I'm meeting Professor Flitwick there for a quick nip before heading back to the school.  I'll walk with you."

Remus had been expecting to have to Apparate as soon as they got out of the shop, and not looking forward to it much, so under the circumstances he felt no shame at all in accepting her escort to the pub.  People still stared at them hostilely, but stares he could cope with and Madam Rosmerta at least showed no inclination to deny them access to her Floo.

~~~

"Nothing's changed in twelve years!  Not one fucking thing!"

"Sirius - "

"No, dammit, Moony!  What was it all for?  Tell me that!  What did we go through that fucking war for, why did so many people die and so much crap happen, if it was just so that everything could go back to the way it was before?"

"People liked it the way it was before, I suppose," Remus said tiredly.  "Some people.  Most of them, perhaps.  People don't like change much, you know, it makes them nervous."

"So you're saying it's all right for them to feel secure in their petty little bigotries?"  Sirius was as incredulous and indignant at this as he had been when Albert Pottager had called Remus an animal.

"No, I'm saying it's just how they are.  War is the worst possible time to try to steer people away from their irrational hatreds, Padfoot - insecurity makes them cling to the familiar, and fear makes them vicious.  And werewolves were on Voldemort's side, remember."

"A handful of them at most!"

Remus shrugged.  "Doesn't matter how many it was, does it?  Statistically, only a minority became Death Eaters, even out of the ones who agreed with the things he was saying, but no one was free of suspicion in the end.  Werewolves have always been discriminated against, and the connection with Voldemort just provided the populace with a better excuse."

He contemplated the groceries they'd purchased, resolutely tuning Sirius out as his partner continued to rant.  It was tempting to argue with him or attempt to stem the flow of angry animadversions against the rest of the world, but he didn't have the energy or patience for it.  Besides, perhaps Sirius would feel better for it.  In the meantime, chicken casserole for dinner?  No - what he really wanted was something rare enough that it practically bellowed when he stuck his fork into it.  They had lamb and beef; a rare steak would be a treat he hadn't been able to afford in years.

When his mouth began to water at the thought of the blood running out of the meat, Remus pulled himself up sharply.  Not a good sign, after all.  Sirius was still ranting - something about what he and James would have done back in the old days - and Remus abruptly decided that it was time to change the subject after all.

"It's the full moon the day after tomorrow," he said, and he had the satisfaction of silencing his partner for several seconds.

Sirius blinked at him.  "So soon?" 

Remus shrugged.  "I have to admit, it's crept up on me.  So much going on, I suppose."

Sirius ran a hand through his hair, not sure what to say.  "What do you do about it these days?  Do you have somewhere secure to go?"

Remus grimaced.  "I've been taking the Wolfsbane Potion for the last few months - it's not easy to get hold of, it has to be made by an accredited Potions Master."

"Wolfsbane Potion?"

Of course, Sirius didn't know about the potion.  "It was a breakthrough a few years ago.  I take the potion for about five days before the full moon and it gives me control over the change.  I still change shape, but I keep my own mind and I don't become … dangerous or violent."  He tried a smile.  "I spent the last few changes curled up under my desk.  It's a lot better than the alternative, I must say."

"And who came up with that?" Sirius asked, raising his brows.

"I don't see how - "

"Snivellus?"

Remus sighed inwardly.  "I believe it may have been him.  It was certainly him making the potion for me while I was at Hogwarts.  Dumbledore insisted, for obvious reasons."

For several moments Sirius seemed to struggle with his desire to comment on Snape's involvement, then he apparently decided to let it go.  "I haven't noticed you taking a potion over the last couple of days," he said.

"No, you're right."  Remus was not about to tell him of the conversation he'd had with Snape at that afternoon, after he'd seen the date on the lunar calendar.  Snape had taken great pleasure in telling him that nothing on earth would induce him to make the potion for him again, along with certain choice comments that Remus wasn't about to relay to Sirius under any circumstances.  "That bargain ended when my contract was terminated, so this month I'm back to the usual change."  The calm words belied his internal squirm at the thought.

"Do you have somewhere to go?"

Those werewolves who could (very few) usually adapted something like a basement or outhouse.  For those who couldn't, and who had a conscience about running loose on the full moon, there were Ministry facilities, but they were grim little dungeons and Remus knew from past experience that if they became busy it could be dangerous.  It wasn't a good idea trapping more than two werewolves together in the same confined space.

"There's a crypt in Highgate Cemetery," he confessed.

Sirius stared at him in disbelief.  "Please tell me you're joking."

"It wasn't that bad … and I think the, er, howling discouraged the local Muggles from investigating."

"Moony, I'm not going to spend the night in a crypt with you!  Ye gods!"

"You won't," Remus said, smiling a little.  "The last time I went back there to check the arrangements, the gates on the entrance had been chained up and the building secured.  I could get in if I had to, but … it's someone's final resting place and clearly the family aren't as indifferent as I thought.  So I'm going to have to find somewhere else."

Sirius looked at a loss.  "Is there a basement here?"

"'Fraid not."

"Shrieking Shack?"

Remus hesitated.  "It's a possibility, but I'm not sure I feel comfortable about using it now that the residents of Hogsmeade know what I am.  I know it's a remote chance that they'll put two and two together, but … someone let the kneazle out of the basket about my condition in the first place and while I think I know who that was, I don't fancy taking any chances this month."

Sirius eyed him.  "Got the prickle between your shoulders?" he asked, making cryptic reference to something Remus had described more than once when they were young.  Remus had called it "someone sighting a werewolf gun on my back".

"Literally," Remus said now, and he shrugged.  He was probably being paranoid, but paranoia had kept a lot of people alive during the war, himself included.  And he _had_ been hunted more than once in the past.  He knew what it felt like.

"Okay … what about woods or open spaces where we can run without meeting any two-foots?

"We're not so far from Dartmoor here," Remus said.  "That's miles of wide open space and the Muggles tend to be careful about the place, it's pretty bleak and dangerous to get stuck there at night if you don't know what you're doing.  The only problem with it is I know there's a group of feral werewolves living on the moors somewhere, and they're not people I want to encounter.  I want _you_ to encounter them even less.  You'd be in more danger from them as Padfoot than you would in human form."

"Let's not go to Dartmoor then," Sirius said rather dryly.  "Woods?  What about the New Forest?"

"That's an idea, I suppose."  Remus considered it.  "Someone released some wild boar there a while ago.  Fresh pork on the trotters …"

Sirius snorted softly.  "I forgot how much raw meat turns you on this close to the full moon."

"Steak or lamb for dinner?"

"Either … so long as it's cooked!"

"Call yourself a canine?" Remus taunted, but his heart wasn't really in it.  "I don't know, Sirius.  There's only one of you and I'm not as reckless as I used to be.  If we can find somewhere, I'd rather be confined."

"You hurt yourself when you're shut in," Sirius pointed out, troubled.

"Not if you're with me."

Sirius didn't look happy about it, but he nodded.  "All right.  Let's try and think of somewhere that has a handy lockable basement or outhouse that we can borrow.  Until then ..."

"Until then, let's eat."  Remus took a heavy iron skillet off a hook and ripped open the packet of steaks.

Sirius grabbed his wrist to halt him and gave him a humorous look when Remus lifted his lip at him.  "Far be it from me to stop you taking it onto the mat to eat," he drawled, "but I'm a man and I like a few vegetables with my meat.  And you can snarl at me all you like, but you _used_ to be quite strict about civilised behaviour."

"Potatoes are in the sack by the door," Remus told him grumpily.  When Sirius turned away, he caught a droplet of blood from the steak wrapper on his finger and defiantly licked it.

 

 **Part 6**

Perhaps it was the confrontation in Hogsmeade that caused it, or perhaps it was because they spent the evening nostalgically listening to records on Remus's old gramophone (which had arrived with the rest of his belongings from Hogwarts), but Sirius's nightmares were particularly bad that night.  They were both bleary-eyed and drained at breakfast the next day, and therefore unprepared for the owl that arrived as they were listlessly picking at tea and toast.

Sirius accepted the letter, paid the owl, and broke the professional-looking seal on the folded parchment.  It was clearly quite a brief missive for he scanned in it less than a minute and tossed it to one side, rubbing his eyes.  There were taut lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth, Remus noticed.

"Trouble?"

Sirius waggled his fingers in a _help yourself_ gesture, so Remus picked the letter up and read it.  It was a short note from Shoester and Slippet to inform Sirius that the Ministry had relinquished its claim on number 12 Grimmauld Place.  He was free to take possession of the house as soon as he chose.  Black Manor, they added, was still being discussed but they believed it too would shortly be handed back.  Remus wondered why the Ministry even bothered arguing the matter when they didn't have a hope of finding either property without Sirius's assistance.

A tiny niggle of doubt at the back of his mind made him wonder if _Sirius_ would be able to find and gain entry to the properties.  Sirius's opinion of his mother's abilities and ingenuity had been fairly rambling and unflattering when he was a teenager, but James, who had known the Black family reasonably well, had been equally pungent in his descriptions of her, albeit in somewhat milder language, and it was harder to discount the things he had said.  Remus couldn't help wondering if the embittered old lady had managed to set up the protections on the two houses so that they excluded her discarded heir as well as everyone else.

Well, there was no point in wondering about that.  Either they could access the buildings or they couldn't; they would find out soon enough, he supposed.

"So we have a house now, in theory at least," he commented lightly, folding the letter up again.

"Moony, nothing on this earth could persuade me to live in that heap of ... old clinkers."  Sirius didn't say this with any heat; rather with a weary look that brought back all the lines on his face.  This was more disturbing to Remus than anger, outrage or ranting would have been.  "I'll sleep in a ditch again first."

"That too can be arranged, but let's hope we won't have to go that far."

"We could rent somewhere, right?"

"We _could_ ," Remus agreed, "but remember that if we want our godson to live with us, we have to convince Dumbledore that the place is secure enough to satisfy his very stringent definitions of the word.  In my experience, most rental properties limit the type and extent of personal wards the resident can use.  I'm willing to bet Dumbledore won't be remotely content with that."

"Not a bet I'm going to take."  Sirius sighed and rubbed his eyes again.  "Well, despite appearances my pile of gold isn't infinite.  We could probably buy somewhere outright, but I wouldn't have enough to feed us all for long afterwards, and I don't suppose Gringotts would grant me a mortgage unless one of us has a decent, stable job - they can't have changed _that_ much in twelve years."

In spite of his negative tone, these words gave Remus a perverse twinge of relief.  He had guessed all of this already, of course, but he hadn't wanted to be the one to raise the subject.  The fact that Sirius was working this out on his own - however gloomily - was reassuring, because it held out hope that he was already beginning to make the difficult adjustments to being a free man.

"Look at it this way," Remus suggested now, keeping a calmly positive tone.  "Yesterday, you had your gold and nothing else.  That would have been a problem.  Today, you have money _and_ a house, however unappealing it might be, so you're in a much better position."

"You haven't seen it," Sirius pointed out, grimly humorous.  "You wouldn't talk about better positions if you knew the place the way I do."

"I'll take your word for that, but consider this - whatever else you decide, you need to look at the house and see what state it's in.  You said it's not included in the family entail, am I right?"

"Mother inherited it from her side of the family.  She was a Black too, but Grimmauld Place was bought by an uncle in the collateral line for his family's use - it was never 'family' property, if you know what I mean."

"So it belongs to you now, to do with as you wish," Remus said, raising his brows.  "It's a disposable asset."

Sirius's brows went up too, surprised.  "You know, I never thought of that."

Remus shrugged, smiling slightly.  "Of course not.  You've been brought up all your life hearing about how it was passed down from father to son, and so on and so forth, until your mother inherited it.  I'm sure the idea of selling it never crossed her mind either.  But if you don't want it yourself and you need to acquire somewhere else to live, then why not sell it?  Pointless having it hanging around empty when the money could be useful."

"It'll be a big enough burden having the Manor on our hands, if the Ministry gives it back," Sirius agreed.  "All right - we'd better take a look."  He still looked distinctly less than enthusiastic.  "Want to go take a look in a while?  I suppose we should get it over with.  Oh, and I got the key to the lock-up from Hagrid yesterday, so we should probably take at look at that too."

Remus hesitated.  "Ye-e-es ... all right.  But don't forget that I need to sort out somewhere secure for tomorrow night."

"We could probably use the lock-up in a pinch," Sirius suggested.  "Clean it up, slap on a load of wards and silencing charms."

"Sounds like we're going to have a busy day," Remus observed.

~~~

They went to the lock-up first.  It had been rented on a fifteen-year lease from the brother of their former landlord, and in theory it should still be exactly as Sirius had left it the night he took his motorbike out and drove to Godric's Hollow to check on James and Lily Potter.  It wasn't much of a building - literally one garage-like unit in a block of five sturdy brick buildings behind Diagon Alley - but it had been useful for storing the bike and other belongings that they didn't have room for in their little flat, including a small second-hand printing press Remus's father had given to him when he left home.  Had the MLE and Aurors known about it when Sirius was arrested the contents would have been seized, but no one had asked the right questions and Remus certainly hadn't felt it incumbent upon him to tell them about it.

The block of lock-ups was still there in the back alley when they arrived, a little shabbier and more daubed with graffiti, but otherwise much the same as they remembered it.

"You didn't come back here, then?" Sirius asked, bouncing the key on his palm nervously as they approached it.

"I thought you had the keys," Remus replied.  "I couldn't have got in without them."

"Okay.  Let's see what we've got."

The wooden doors of all five lock-ups had received abuse over the years.  The others showed signs of repair and repainting, but theirs was definitely showing its age, with faded, peeling paint and a lot of mixed graffiti scratched or sprayed over it.  Remus's eyes had no trouble picking out the names of four friends carved carefully into the thicker wood by the lock and now darkened with age; Sirius, he thought, was trying not to look at them.  Then the key grated heavily in the lock and the wards lifted.

"Lock and hinges are a bit rusty," Sirius remarked.  He grasped the handles of the doors and pulled them open, and the hinges screeched, making Remus wince.  His hearing was considerably more acute so close to the full moon.

Dust arose and with it came the sour smell of old motor oil.  Everything was as they had left it twelve years previously.

"If the wards have held, then my press should still be in working order," Remus commented.  He took a couple of steps into the dim interior and looked around.  "There are our school trunks - they'll be useful to stash our gear in until we find a new place."

"We've still got nearly eighteen months left on the lease by my reckoning," Sirius said.  "Hagrid's got my bike - I could bring it back here for now.  Here's the sidecar ... and my toolkit.  What's in that crate there?"

Remus was less interested in the contents of the lock-up than its doors, though.  " _Reparo_ ," he said, tapping the hinges.  Some rust flaked off, but it didn't make much difference when he gave the door a cautious push.  What _was_ interesting was that most of the hinges showed the kind of scratches on them, both recent and older, that suggested someone had made sporadic attempts to break in, but in this neighbourhood that was probably to be expected.  "I don't think we can risk using this place tomorrow night," he said, disappointed.  "The doors aren't nearly strong enough if I have a rough change and try to break out."

"Damn.  In that case we need to start thinking about places where we could run loose if need be, because I'm out of ideas for secure confinement." 

"Padfoot," Remus said, suddenly alert.  "We have company ..."

A short wizard in smart blue robes was approaching them, his round face flushed and his manner a mixture of self-righteousness and nerves.

"This smells like trouble," Sirius said sourly.  "How did he catch up with us so quickly?  Was he lying in wait or something?"

"He's not the landlord, is he?  I remember him being a much older chap, taller, skinnier, with a dodgy leg ..."

The wizard puffed his way up to them.  "Sirius Black?" he demanded in an agitated tone.

"That's me," Sirius said warily.

The man reached inside his robes and pulled out a couple of folded sheets of parchment, which he presented to Sirius with a hand that shook despite his obvious efforts to control it.  Sirius reluctantly accepted them, and as soon as he did so the wizard turned on his heel, clearly intending to beat a swift retreat.  He reckoned without Remus, however, who expected something like this and moved to intercept him.

"Hang on a minute," he said mildly, and he managed not to flinch at their visitor's visible recoil.  Apparently he knew who - and what - Remus was.

Sirius was quickly reading through the documents.  "We're served with a week's notice to quit," he said grimly, passing the notice to his partner.  He gave the wizard a cool look.  "You're the new owner of the lock-ups, I take it?  What happened to old Nailer?"

"Sold up and moved to Dublin after the war."  The man tried to get around Remus, failed and shuffled closer to Sirius whom he presumably viewed as the less dangerous prospect.  "All perfectly legal!" he complained, his eyes shifting between them nervously.  "You've been a sitting tenant since 1981!"

"So?  You've been accepting the payments from my bank vault each month, haven't you?  If you had a problem with the lease, why didn't you instruct Gringotts to return the rent and get an injunction to reclaim the lock-up?  It's not like you don't know who I am."

Remus watched with interest as the landlord's face reddened.  "If he did that, the Aurors would have been notified and they could have moved in to investigate it.  He could have lost months' worth of rent while they took their time checking and confiscating everything."  He tilted his head on one side, regarding the spluttering man before him.  "I'm guessing you left it alone, because that way you still got the rent and you could try to get around the wards at your leisure.  I thought the doors looked a bit rough, even after all this time!  How many times did you try to break in?"

The wizard's face turned an even deeper shade of red, verging on purple.  "This is outrageous!  I have a right to reclaim my property!  Seven days, Mr. Black, if you're not out in seven days I'll have the law on you!"

"Good luck," Sirius said.  He fished inside his old robe and extracted a small square of cardboard.  "My solicitors' details.  They'll be delighted to argue the toss over it with you."

The card was snatched from his fingers and Remus stepped aside to let their unwelcome visitor make his escape.

"That upped the ante a little," he commented, hoping he didn't sound as dismayed as he felt.  Where were they going to find storage for all their things in just seven days?

Sirius snorted.  "I'll send a note to Shoester later.  Let's see what's in here and take anything we need - the rest can wait a day or two."

"We could rent somewhere else for a while, I suppose," Remus said doubtfully, following him back into the lock-up.

"Let's wait and see what the solicitors can do.  He obviously couldn't break our wards, so he'll have to actually evict us and hire a securiwizard to open it up.  That'll take a while."

~~~

The next stop was Grimmauld Place.

"Not exactly a high-end area, is it?" Remus said, surveying the dilapidated square with its run-down buildings and much-abused central grassed square.  "Somehow I always pictured your family living somewhere more … prosperous."

"I think it must have been at some point," Sirius admitted, looking around.  "It was starting to go downhill a bit when I was a kid, though."

"Was it always a Muggle area?"

"No idea.  I doubt it - I can't imagine any of my family willingly buying a house in a Muggle area.  The magical community was larger in the past though, with more pureblood families living in places like this."  Sirius sighed.  "Okay, let's see if we can get inside the house."

They crossed the square together, but when they reached the pavement on the opposite side Sirius had to take Remus's wrist and lead him, as he kept having the most absurd and irresistible urges to wander off in random directions whenever they approached the row of houses.

"It's here.  I can see the house, no problem," Sirius told him.  "You should be okay too when we reach the steps."

"Well that's something," Remus said, annoyed with the way his brain kept trying to tell him that there was something he needed to see or do that was _ooh! shiny!_ if only he would turn around and walk in another direction.  "How the devil do the people who live next door manage to get in and out with _this_ going on?"

"I think it might only affect people who are actually looking for number 12.  Probably a bit more complicated than that, but you get the idea."

"Marvellous.  Do you need a key to get inside?"

"No - the door should recognise me when I touch it."  Sirius hesitated on the steps though, and gave Remus a grim smile.  "You know, I half-expected not to be able to find the place.  That maybe she'd warded it against me."

"Are you surprised that she didn't?" Remus asked.  He didn't have to ask who "she" was."

"I don't know," Sirius admitted.  "Let's see if we can get inside first."

"Are there likely to be any dark creature protections?" Remus asked him warily.  "Your mother knew what I was, didn't she?"

"Ye-e-s, but it's only an alarm and I should be able to shut that up straight away."

Remus hoped Sirius was right.  He'd encountered a few dark creature wards over the years and he didn't like any of them.  Most were set to 'stun' at their lowest setting, but one had put him in St. Mungo's for a week with an acutely painful 'sunburn'.

Sirius took a breath and tapped the door knocker lightly with his wand.  There was a soft _clunk_ and the door swung open, revealing a gloomy entrance hall festooned with cobwebs and thick with dust.  A familiar smell of mildew met Remus's nostrils and he grimaced.

"I think your house-elf must have died," he commented quietly.

"Good."  Sirius paused on the threshold.  "The ward plate is underneath the mosaic directly before the door," he said, pointing to a spot on the floor barely two feet in front of him.  Remus could just see the shadow of the mosaic decal under the dust.  "Don't step on it if you can help it - the wards will still trigger if you step over or around it, but they won't be so aggressive."

Not the most reassuring thing he could say, but Remus had to trust him on this.  They stepped over the decal and almost at once Remus felt something trigger, just as the door shut itself quietly behind him.  The hair came up on the back of his neck as a weird soft wailing sound, like the cry of a siamese cat, echoed somewhere deep in the house.  Sirius waved his wand and it cut off at once.

"That's the family ward and the dark creature alarm," he said, sounding relieved.  "The ward recognised me, so we should be okay now - "

"Kreacher, who is there?"

At the sound of the thin, nasal old woman's voice Sirius turned white, but before Remus could react there was a loud _crack_ and the oldest, most decrepit-looking house-elf he'd ever seen appeared in the hallway before them.  His skin hung in loose wrinkled folds from his limbs, tufts of yellowing white hair stuck out of his bat-like ears, and huge watery eyes peered at them over a hooked nose.  He wore nothing but a kind of filthy loin-cloth made, if Remus was any judge, from an old duster.

"Who comes to the most noble and ancient house of Black?" he croaked, staring at them.  His eyes ran over Remus uncomprehendingly, but then he took a closer look at Sirius - and started, recoiling.  "You!" he hissed.

On the wall beside the front door, opposite a staircase leading to the upper storeys, was a large picture frame covered by a set of moth-eaten velvet curtains.  Remus had barely had time to notice it, but the curtains suddenly flew open to reveal a life-sized and horribly realistic portrait of an old woman in a black widow's cap.  Her skin was sallow, her eyes haggard, and her thin mouth screwed up with bitterness.  A more unattractive image Remus couldn't imagine.

Then she clapped eyes on Sirius and her whole face contorted into a rolling-eyed, drooling mask of freakish rage.

And she screamed.

The sound brought Remus to his knees with his hands clamped to his head, his moon-sensitive ears unable to bear the thin, nails-on-a-slate pitch of her shrieking.

 _"YOU!  BLOOD-TRAITOR!  ABOMINATION!  SHAME OF MY FLESH!  HOW DARE YOU COME BACK HERE TO THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS - "_

Remus couldn't help it; he let out a cry of pain and the sound galvanised Sirius into violent action.

"Sirius, no!"

Too late - Sirius's wand had flicked already out.  Remus had no idea which curse he used, but the flash of yellow light streaked toward the portrait.  Mrs. Black's shrieks ratcheted up to an almost impossible pitch, the house-elf howled, and the curse bounced off the portrait as though hitting an invisible sheet of glass.  Remus had just enough wits about him to leap at his partner and bringing him crashing to the floor before the curse ricocheted.  It whistled over their heads and hit the tarnished brass filigree decorations of a clock on the other side of the hall, ricocheted again, and this time hit an ugly umbrella stand shaped like a troll's foot.  The whole thing exploded, raining stinking and smouldering fragments down on their heads.

Silence fell.  Even Mrs. Black was surprised into shutting up.

Remus got to his feet slowly, brushing bits of troll's foot off his clothes.  He turned to look at Mrs. Black's portrait; staring back at him, her eyes began to bulge again and she opened her mouth -

 _"Silencio!"_   He could see her mouth working, but apparently the silencing charm worked.  "Interesting - looks like the protections on it only work against curses and hexes."  He turned around.  "Sirius, are you all right?"

Sirius was sitting up slowly, looking decidedly green and shaken.  "Sorry, Moony," he muttered.

"Don't be daft - anyone would have reacted badly to that."  His ears were still ringing as he offered Sirius a hand up.  "Has that picture always been there?"

"No - it wasn't there when I left, anyway, and she never looked like - like that before - "

"You dare not speak about my mistress!"

They both jumped and jerked around to see the elf actually stamping his feet on the floor, his claw-like hands balled into fists and his face screwed up fiercely.

"Nasty, disagreeable brat who broke my mistress's heart!  How dare you come back here?  Not wanted!  Not wanted!  Get out - out - OUT!"

"Shut up!" Sirius snapped, and to everyone's surprise the house-elf fell silent, his mouth working as futilely as Mrs. Black's behind the silencing charm.

"I take it back, Sirius," Remus said dryly after a moment.  "I don't think your house-elf is dead after all."

"More's the pity," Sirius said bitterly.

With a loud rattle of chains and weights and a sharp splintering of wood, the old grandfather clock against the far wall burst its case, firing springs, bolts and cogs in every direction as the two men ducked for cover.

~~~

The house was in an appalling state, clearly untouched since the day Mrs. Black died.  Every room mirrored the decay of the hallway, with dust, cobwebs and mildew lying everywhere.

"I wonder who buried her?" Remus mused at one point.

"Christ knows," Sirius replied curtly.  "Snape or more likely the Malfoys, I should think.  Which means they probably have access to this house."

"That can be remedied, can't it?"

"I think so."

"Then perhaps that should be our first job.  We don't need any of them popping in unexpectedly."

"I'll have to lift the ward plate," Sirius said, so they went back out to the front hall.

Mrs. Black's curtains were closed once more, but Remus cast another silencing charm on her, just in case, and they crouched down beside the mosaic on the floor which, now that the dust had lifted a little, could be seen to be a representation of the Black family crest.  The decal was set into a kind of metal frame which could be seen glinting between the marble tiles of the mosaic and the wooden parquet of the rest of the floor.

Sirius put the tip of his wand against this frame and muttered a levitating charm.  It took three attempts to get the decal to lift out.

"I really need to get another wand," he muttered as they caught the heavy decal between them and set it to one side.

Underneath was a smooth piece of slate that fit into the gap tightly.  Remus could see runes written on it in a variety of substances and he could feel the magic radiating off it.

"Padfoot, be careful - there are wards set into this that are hundreds of years old.  They could react very badly if you tamper with them."

"I'm not going to touch most of them - just the most recent adjustments.  See the blood along the outer edge there?  That's the close family members.  I'll probably need to erase the last couple of generations, then I can add myself back and put you on ..."

It took a while.  In principle all Sirius needed to do was to erase any living members of the family barring himself and Andromeda, but magic could be a funny thing where blood was concerned.  Erasing the last two or three generations would ensure that the wards didn't accidentally 'recognise' someone still living with a distant blood claim on the family (of which there were probably many, given how interbred the First Families were), or, worse, continue to recognise Narcissa Malfoy or her son.  Sirius also had to check for people with 'privileged' status - people outside of the family who had been given blood access to the house anyway.  Unsurprisingly, this number was small but significant; Lucius Malfoy, Severus Snape, Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange, Augustus Rookwood, Walden Mcnair ...

"A stunning collection of Death Eaters," Remus commented.

"Are you surprised?  Malfoy and Lestrange are family by marriage, Snape's family at a remove, and Rookwood and Mcnair were in Slytherin with Regulus."  Sirius began to remove them with short, savage jabs of his wand.  When he was done, he muttered a couple of cleansing spells over the space on the slate for good measure, then held his finger over it and made a tiny nick, spilling just a single drop of blood.  It glistened against the matt surface for a moment, then dried to a brown-ish spot.  "Okay, Moony, pick a digit."

"Can you nick a knuckle?" Remus asked, offering his left hand.  "If I change tomorrow night with a cut on a fingertip, I'll have a cut on one of my pads and it could make me grumpy.  Or more grumpy than usual, I should say."

"Noted."  Sirius made a tiny cut on the knuckle of his little finger, and as soon as it had bled he performed a simple healing charm over the cut.  "Okay?"

Remus flexed his fingers.  "That should be fine."

Sirius made a couple more passes over the slate and finally nodded.  "Okay, I think that's set.  Let's put it all back."

"Will my blood have neutralised the dark creature wards?" Remus asked suddenly, as they settled the decal back into place.

Sirius shook his head.  "I doubt it, they're in a different set of nested wards.  In fact, you may have to shut off the alarm any time you come here without me, but we'll see what happens.  It's not like we're planning to be here much, after all."

Remus decided to hold his tongue on that subject.  While he had every sympathy with Sirius's feelings about this house, he had a strong suspicion that their circumstances might render it the only solution to their accommodation problems, at least in the short term.  There was no point in saying that to Sirius though.

"In that case, I suggest we take a look at the vital facilities," he said instead.  "Kitchen, bathrooms, water supplies, etc. ...  And take stock of the damage, I suppose.  If you've got any rotten floorboards, leaks or chizpurfle infestations, you need to find out about it now, not when a prospective buyer's looking over the house."

It could not be said that Sirius was remotely happy about this, but he reluctantly agreed and they began a long and tedious recce of the building, starting at the attics and working down.  The roof, at least, was sound - indeed, as they worked through the house, it became clear that the fabric of the building generally was sound - and the attics surprisingly neat, if inches deep in undisturbed dust.  Great trunks, some bearing ancient and faded Hogwarts crests, were stacked up tidily alongside tea-chests, hat boxes, dressing cases and portmanteaux.  Wrapped and snoring paintings rested in twos and threes against the walls that divided number 12 from the houses on either side.  An immense wardrobe loomed over everything from a corner; in another was a covered full-length mirror and a tall hat-stand with some minor damage.

They disturbed none of these relics.  In a house like number 12 Grimmauld Place it simply wasn't worth the risk.  Having satisfied themselves that the roof needed no repairs, they retreated to the floor below where they encountered Kreacher loitering before one of two bedroom doors.  Judging by Kreacher's twitchy behaviour, he was lurking before one particular door deliberately; Remus peered over the elf's head and saw a neatly hand-written, rather obnoxious sign precisely placed in the centre panel.

 ___Do Not Enter_ __

_Without the Express Permission of_

 _Regulus Arcturus Black_

"Do we need to look inside your brother's room?" he asked, eyeing the elf warily.  The poor old thing was pathetic, hunching defensively before the door and hitching up his filthy loincloth, bloodshot eyes rolling as he muttered to himself in a deranged manner.

"No," Sirius said curtly, barely glancing at it before he turned to the second door.

Kreacher's cackle brought him up short.  Apparently the order to be silent had worn off.

"He dares not touch the true master's things!  Nasty little blood-traitor, never was he Master Regulus's equal.  Not at games, not at his lessons, not - "

Remus had to seize Sirius's arm in an iron grip to prevent him turning on the elf.

"Actually," he said to the elf himself, and speaking in a mildly conversational tone, "that's not true.  Sirius was always in the top five scholars in his classes, while Regulus struggled to be in the top ten.  I was there, you see.  I know."  He smiled amiably at Kreacher, although he felt far from amiable inside.  There was something nasty in the house-elf's manner, even if he was only parroting things said by Sirius's family; Remus didn't like the baiting nature of his tone.  "On second thought, I think we'll take a look at the second son's room."

Kreacher actually tried to bar the way by stretching himself across the doorway.  "You shall not touch his things!  Beast!  Monster!  How dare you defile the House of Black with your presence!"

"Step aside," Sirius said in a deadly tone.

Kreacher dithered about it for several seconds, visibly struggling against the powerful impulse to obey the only surviving heir of the Black family, but servitude to the family prevailed and he all but crawled to one side of the door, where he sat on the floor and snivelled while Remus tried the door handle.  It resisted his first attempt, but an _Alohomora_ charm unlocked it easily enough.  The door clicked and swung open without protest, leaving Remus on the threshold peering at the faded grandeur.

He couldn't imagine Sirius inhabiting a room like this.  It was a museum to Slytherin fervour, the bed and windows draped in green and silver velvet and the walls covered with green and silver paper.  The large ebony four poster bed had the Black family crest painted on the headboard and the tarnished silvered fittings on the dresser drawers and wardrobe were shaped like snakes.

There was a corkboard hanging beside the bed with a collection of newspaper cuttings and photographs pinned to it.  Remus walked over, feeling his nose itch at the puffs of dust rising from the carpet, and examined them.  There was a surprising number of early cuttings about Lord Voldemort, some of them dating back from the early years of his rise to power, long before the war, which had to have been culled from back issues of the _Daily_ Prophet and other newspapers.  The photographs were eerier.  Remus encountered the hostile teenaged stares of Severus Snape, Walden Mcnair, the Carrows, and Bellatrix Lestrange; an informal photo taken at the wedding of Sirius's cousin Narcissa to Lucius Malfoy was pinned a little more neatly to one side along with a tastefully decorated (and now somewhat yellowed) invitation.  A framed photograph of the Slytherin Quidditch Team stood on the bedside table below the corkboard; Remus picked it up and at once met the aloof gaze of Regulus Black from the Seeker's position in the front row.

He couldn't help feeling a twinge of sadness, which was only intensified when he put the frame down and something tucked into the back of it slipped out.  Remus picked up the stiff piece of paper and turned it over to find another photograph - this one of two boys, both preadolescents, standing side by side in formal robes, trying - and clearly failing - to keep the suitably solemn and haughty expressions normally demanded of proper, high-ranking purebloods.  They tried to hide grins as they jostled each other in front of the camera … two boys with black hair, grey eyes, fine features and an indisputable air of wealth and privilege. 

Remus turned around and found that Sirius was still standing in the doorway, his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched as he stared around at his brother's things.  His hair, rather remarkably considering his time in Azkaban, was almost untouched by grey and the same eyes of the taller boy in the photograph stared out of his face.  But Remus was shocked to see how old his posture and expression made him look in that unguarded moment.

He had been intending to show Sirius the photograph, but not now.  Sirius might deny any kind of regret or grief over his family, but everything in his body-language right now said otherwise.  Once again, Remus was reminded that there was a great deal of family history, disappointment and hurt in Sirius's past, most of which he had simply not dealt with, and this house encapsulated the full measure of that history for him.

Now was not the time to remind him that once upon a time he had loved, and been loved by, his younger brother.

~~~

Examining the house took several hours, time which Remus was conscious they didn't really have.  Full moon tension was already beginning to build inside him, a natural instinct that he had little control over and which made his temper uncertain.  His biggest concern was having somewhere secure to spend the full moon, and every minute they wasted inside number 12 Grimmauld Place meant less time to find that place. 

So when they finally reached the kitchen and discovered that it had a secure cellar with a sturdy door and no second exit, Remus's mind was made up on the spot and it was simply too bad if Sirius wasn't happy about it - this was the best arrangement he'd seen in over six months, trumping the Shrieking Shack and mausoleum by a wide margin.

"So, what now?" Sirius was saying, as Remus tested and re-tested the locks on the cellar door.  "Want to get something to eat, then drop in at Andromeda's and ask her if she knows any decent estate agents?  We can ask them about somewhere for us _and_ getting rid of this dump - "

"We _could,_ " Remus agreed amiably enough, "but we're not getting rid of this place just yet."

Sirius squinted at him, taken off guard.  "What?"

"We need this house until we can find somewhere better," he said firmly, "and we're going to be staying here tomorrow night."  He indicated the cellar door.

Even in the rather uneven light of the kitchen lamps, Sirius seemed to lose some of his colour.  "Moony … no …"

"Sirius, it's the best we can possibly do under the circumstances.  We have _nowhere else_ to go.  The wards on the house mean no one can drop in unexpectedly, this cellar is clean, dry and secure, and it won't be a disaster if, by some mischance, I do escape it."  When Sirius was silent, he added, "At this stage I can't see us finding anywhere a fraction as suitable - can you?  And I refuse to use the Ministry facilities.  They were dreadful the last time I went there, overcrowded and very poorly managed, and that was years ago.  The Ministry has cracked down quite a bit on werewolves since then and there's a bunch of sadists working for the Beasts' Division now - your brother's friend Mcnair being one of them."

There was a long silence, then Sirius muttered something barely audible.

Remus touched his arm gently.  "What was that?"

"I swore I'd never spend another night under this roof," Sirius said in a low voice, and his shoulders hunched up again.

"I don't blame you.  But Padfoot, we have to be practical.  It's for one night."

Sirius sighed.  "All right.  But we're not living here.  You understand?  Nothing on God's earth will make me move into this place even for a short time.  We're going to find somewhere else for the next full moon."

"Understood."  Remus hesitated, then added, "Thank you.  I hate putting you through this, but Sirius - just as much as you hate this house, I hate the idea of being a risk to anyone."

"You don't have to tell _me_ that," Sirius said with a weary half-smile.  "How long have we known each other?  I know how you feel about putting people at risk of your condition, all right?  We'll do it your way."  He sighed and looked around at the kitchen, which was as unappealing as the rest of the house.  "We'd better clean this place up, in that case.  We'll need to get here a bit before sundown and eat dinner beforehand."

"We can come back tomorrow afternoon to sort that out," Remus said.  "Let's start by setting up some wards and sorting out how we're going to do this."

~~~

When they returned the following day, the approaching full moon was almost at full burn in Remus's blood.  He was short-tempered and full of restless energy, and in the end Sirius let him get on with cleaning the kitchen to his liking while he returned to the cottage on the coast to collect supplies. 

One thing he recalled quite vividly from the old days was how little Remus wanted to eat on the evening of the moon, yet how ravenous he was when offered food and how much more settled he was after the change if he had a full stomach.  When they'd run loose in the Forbidden Forest as youths, Padfoot and Moony had hunted rabbits to slake the bloodlust; that wasn't an option this time, so he'd have to coax Remus to eat and the best way to do that was to offer him some nice rare steak.  The wolf wanted meat even if the man didn't.

When he returned, Remus had made the kitchen range and table useable and put numerous candlesticks about the room to supplement the poor lighting.  In the flickering candlelight his eyes were a feral amber that gave even Sirius a tiny pause.

"Took your time," he said curtly, and that was definitely the wolf speaking.  Sirius let it pass.

"I brought some meat for supper," he said, putting a waxed paper parcel on the table that contained every last bit of the steak, pork and liver they'd bought to last them the rest of the week.  It didn't matter, they could buy more, especially as Remus was unlikely to be strong enough to eat much the following day.

"I'm not hungry."

"I am."  He wasn't, but he knew he would need the protein to get him through the night too.

Sirius tossed his robe over the end of the table and pulled a cast iron frying pan down off a hook.  The range lit after a couple of pokes with his wand, and he set the pan on it to heat while he unwrapped the meat.  He hadn't bothered with any vegetables or bread; Padfoot wouldn't need more than the meat to keep his strength up and Moony certainly wouldn't want anything else.

Minutes later the kitchen began to smell of frying steak and it was all Sirius could do to fend Remus off while he made sure the first of the steaks was at least seared on each side.  He wasn't keen on 'blue' steak himself, but refusing to let Remus have it for the time it would take to at least call the thing _rare_ was probably more than his life was worth.  He did persuade him to put it on a plate, and having spent twelve years eating with his fingers he wasn't about to complain about someone else's manners.

In less than fifteen minutes the meat was largely gone, and Sirius gave in and permitted himself a threatening growl when Remus showed signs of trying to steal the last of the liver from him.  This too was nothing new.  The odd thing was that the wolf would share with Padfoot if he was suitably submissive.  But Remus just before the change?  Not likely.  It had been an eye-opener for their friends more than once, and James had been frankly uneasy around him in the final hours before the moon rose.

"I know he'd never hurt me, but it's like he can smell _venison_ on me," he'd complained once, when Remus had been more than ordinarily watchful of him at dinner.

Sirius had laughed about it until Remus stole and ate all of the sausages off his plate and most of Peter's too.  He'd had the nerve to complain that they were overcooked, too.

A full stomach calmed Remus down nicely and he slumped at the table, sated but still watchful, while Sirius washed the plates and cleaned the pan.

"What happened to Kreacher?" Sirius asked him, as he put the frying pan up on its hook and made sure the range was out.

"No idea.  He was here, muttering about this, that and the other while you were gone, but he disappeared upstairs when I snapped at him."

"Let's hope he stays there."  Sirius sighed.  "Come on, then.  We'd better go down into the cellar."

He turned all but one of the kitchen lights out with a flick of his wand and unbolted the cellar door.  These outer bolts he warded open (mostly to prevent Kreacher tampering with them while they were inside).  When he closed the door behind them, he secured the matching three bolts with a charm and swung across a sturdy bar Remus had installed the previous day.  Neither of them could work magic while they were changed fortunately; at this point the only way to get the door open again, short of battering it down with brute force, was for Sirius to open it with his wand, and for that he would have to be in human form.

The cellar wasn't big.  In fact, it was roughly the same size and shape as the cell Sirius had occupied in Azkaban, with much the same characteristics, which had given him the cold shivers the day before.  (Remus had offered to undergo the change alone because of this, but Sirius had refused to entertain the suggestion.)  They'd put warming charms on the space and found a pile of ragged old blankets in case Moony was calm enough after the change to lie down.  Two dusty old wine racks had been removed, along with assorted barrels and crates, leaving nothing but a high shelf to put their clothes and wands on, and a brass lamp hanging from the centre of the ceiling.  There was no window, only a small ventilation grill high up on the wall behind the shelf.

They undressed in silence, Remus shivering a little in spite of the charms.  Strictly speaking, Sirius didn't need to as the magic of the Animagus transformation incorporated anything on the wizard's body during the change, including wands, but he wasn't about to stay fully clothed while Remus was naked.  That done, he spread the blankets out in a corner and sat down crossed-legged to wait.

Remus couldn't.  He paced restlessly, shivering and hugging himself - not that Sirius could blame him.  For two Knuts he'd have done the same, the enclosure making him feel trapped and sick to his stomach, but there wasn't much room and he didn't want to provoke Remus's temper.  In the end he wrapped his arms around his knees and concentrated on his breathing while they waited out the last minutes before moonrise.

Fortunately, they didn't have long to wait.  Abruptly Remus stopped, pressing one hand against the wall, and seemed to be listening to something inside himself.  Then he gasped softly and his head dropped.

 _"Lumos minimus,"_ Sirius said softly and the light from the lamp dimmed to a point where it wouldn't irritate canine eyes.

Remus's limbs were shaking and he had both hands on the wall now, panting for breath as he slipped to his knees.  His back arched slowly, not a stretching motion but something that looked much more painful, and Sirius could see him clenching his jaws and stiffening in futile revolt against it.  Hands curled into a parody of claws against the chilly stone floor.  Joints jerked and twisted against themselves.  Eyeballs rolled under tightly squeezed eyelids.  Panting, labouring breaths turned to harsh grunts of pain, until the first hoarse scream was ripped from his throat as both shoulders dislocated themselves simultaneously.

When his body began to shrink, change shape and grow fur, first along the spine, feet and hands, then more rapidly over elongating limbs, Sirius changed shape himself and retreated to a corner, hunching down and keeping low and inconspicuous.

It was a wise move, for the wolf began to snarl savagely as soon as it had the vocal cords to do so.  This was not like the changes Sirius remembered from when they were teenagers, where there had been a brief period of grace while Moony whimpered and had to find his feet after the trauma of the change from man to wolf.  This time a very large adult wolf emerged, jumping to its feet almost immediately - and enraged, as though the confinement of the past few months under the Wolfsbane Potion had bottled up all its most savage instincts.  It shook its pelt comprehensively as soon as the change was complete and bent its head to sniff the air suspiciously.

And it howled, a protracted, spine-chilling sound that brought Padfoot's hackles up even as his ears flattened in alarm and he tried to back even further into his corner.  The movement attracted the wolf's attention and it wheeled on him at once, yellow eyes narrowed and snout wrinkling in a snarl.  Padfoot whined just once, grovelling, and the wolf was on him in a bound, bowling him over.

The violence of the move shook him.  He'd barely scrambled to his paws again before Moony seized him once more, powerful jaws grabbing the thick scruff of fur at the back of his neck and shaking him viciously.  He was released, only for a swipe of a heavy paw to knock him over again.  He was rolled onto his back and the wolf pinned him, jaws at his throat, snarling in an open threat.

Every canine instinct demanded that Padfoot fight back, but it would have been suicide.  Large as he was, he was still no match for this wolf and in any case, this wasn't about fighting, which could only have meant one thing to Moony - a challenge to his alpha male dominance over his pack.  Moony was putting him back in his place after a protracted absence, and all Padfoot could do was grovel at every opportunity until the wolf was satisfied that the status quo had been re-established.

Padfoot had to withstand a long period of this treatment before Moony finally left him alone, turning his back and feigning indifference as he hunkered down to clean his paws.  Padfoot crouched warily, trembling, waiting for him to finish doing this before he got down on his belly and crawled to him, whining.  For a moment he thought he'd seriously miscalculated; Moony was on his feet again in a flash, growling low in his throat.  Padfoot flattened himself and after a few seconds, rolled over, showing his throat.

Moony sniffed him, still rumbling suspiciously.  Padfoot whined and thumped his tail just a little.  The wolf's inspection seemed interminable, but eventually the thick bushy tail waved and Padfoot was permitted to get to his feet and fawn on him.  Moony received this tribute as being very much his due, then deigned to sniff Padfoot in return.  His previous attentions had been far from gentle, leaving Padfoot with a few bite marks on his neck and legs, and although the skin was unbroken - Sirius's fur was far too thick - these were nevertheless cleaned, a large paw holding the dog in place when he tried to shy away.

Good relations having thus been restored, there followed a period of mutual grooming to cement the old pack bond.  Finally, a protracted game of shaking and worrying the blankets, tugging them between them and tearing them to shreds, and chasing each other's tails, commenced. 

Eventually they dug a nest in the pile of blanket bits and settled down to sleep, back to back.

 

 **Part 7**

Waking in the morning was not a pleasant experience.  Remus was human again, and he hadn't done as much damage to himself as he could, but that was the best that could be said for the matter.  The sudden, violent change had left him with brutally sore muscles and joints, and his first attempt to move threw him into multiple cramps in his legs and shoulders that made him cry out in agony.

Sirius wasn't much better.  The aggression shown to Padfoot by Moony in those first fifteen minutes after the change had left him with bruises all over his body, and some pretty nasty aches and pains of his own.  He was still in a better case to move than Remus and at his partner's cry he got up to help him rub the afflicted limbs. 

The cramp passed off, but Remus was still in no position to get up.  Sirius crawled to his feet and collected their clothes and wands from the shelf.  He pulled his jeans and outer robe on, forced his feet into his shoes, then, as gently as he could manage under the circumstances, he dressed Remus in his outer robe.  Remus, all but comatose, mumbled a protest.

"Lie still," Sirius told him.  "I'm going to levitate you out of here."

The first attempt made Remus groan in pain.  "Body … bind," he wheezed.

Muttering apologies, Sirius cast a full body-bind and tried again.  This time he was more successful, and once the wards were down and the door unbarred, he eased Remus out of the cellar.  It wasn't until he reached the hallway, however, that he paused.  It wasn't going to be possible to get Remus back to the cottage until he was back on his feet, and from the look of things that wasn't going to happen for hours.  They were going to have to stay at Grimmauld Place for the time being.

The thought gave Sirius the creeps, but there was no way around it.  Remus had to have somewhere to rest while he recuperated, and Sirius knew from past experience that any attempt to Apparate or portkey him while he was in this condition would only make his discomfort much worse.

He grimaced, but realised he had no choice but to let it go.  Doing a quick mental review of the bedrooms in the house, he decided that he might as well take Remus up to his own old room.  At least it had once been his, filled with his own things, and there were fractionally fewer bad memories associated with it.  If they had to stay in this damn house, that was as good a place as any.

They hadn't lingered over the bedrooms the day before, and his own room in particular he hadn't wanted to look at after being confronted with Regulus's.  As he unlocked the door and shoved it open, another cloud of dust greeted him, which he cleared away with a couple of forceful charms.

Then he came face to face with his teenaged rebellion.  Some things were similar to Regulus's room - the heavy four poster bed and matching ebony furniture, and the brass light fittings hanging from the ceiling.  The room was slightly bigger, however, and the colour scheme was the complete opposite.  Sirius recalled a series of days over one summer when, confined to his room for some misdemeanour, he had angrily set about redecorating everything.  The colour scheme - changed from the family's midnight blue and silver colours to Gryffindor scarlet and gold - had really taken very little effort.  The devil had been in the details, modifying the shape of the brass fittings on the furniture, changing the patterns in the textiles.  He never quite managed to get rid of the family crest on the headboard of the bed, or the little decals of it on the wallpaper, so he'd plastered over those with posters and pictures cut from magazines; motorbikes and Quidditch players and - just in case his parents had felt a need to poke around in there - a small handful of semi-naked women, gleaned from Muggle magazines.  The faded images stared down at him as he cast a quick cleaning spell over the bedspread and gently set Remus down there.

The sheets were the finest Egyptian cotton and the bedspread a thick, heavy velvet.  The bedspread was also scarlet and gold to match everything else, although the teenaged Sirius had to fix the colour on that one every time it came back from the laundry.  The adult barely took note of the colour as he removed the body-bind and tucked his partner under the covers.  Remus didn't notice it at all; he was already asleep and would probably stay that way for some hours.

Sirius would happily have rolled into the bed beside him and was, in fact, on the verge of doing so when he remembered that while sleep was the best thing for Remus _now_ , when he awoke he would need food and drink … and there wasn't any left in the house.  There were vegetables and other groceries at the cottage, of course, but no meat, and Madam Pomfrey's prescription for Remus after a change had always been heavy on meat, on account of the change taking a huge amount of energy out of him.

Sirius stepped back, scratching the back of his head uncomfortably as he watched Remus breathe.

They had no meat, and it couldn't be transfigured out of something else.  There was cheese, eggs and vegetables, of course, but they didn't have all of the nutrients Remus needed.

He could send Kreacher out to get supplies, perhaps.  Sirius wrinkled his nose at the thought.  Kreacher was mad and unreliable.  Also, Sirius had no money here.  He was going to have to go back to the cottage to collect his moneybag.  Or he could roast Kreacher over the kitchen fire, perhaps.  This had a certain attraction, although not a culinary one.

Sirius sighed.

He had no excuse, really.  If he was going to go back to the cottage to collect his money - and the rest of their food - and some replacement clothes for himself and Remus - then it made no sense at all to send Kreacher out to do the shopping.  Especially as he had other things to buy which Kreacher couldn't get for him, such as an owl for Ron Weasley and a new wand, one which didn't fight him at awkward moments.  He could perfectly well do the shopping himself.  The fact that he didn't want to, and was in fact afraid to do so, had no bearing on the matter.  He couldn't keep hiding behind Moony, especially right now when Moony needed him to be in control of the situation.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there and dithered, but eventually Sirius realised that if he was going to take control and do the things that needed to be done, then he was actually going to have to leave Remus and go out - alone - to do it.

It took perhaps another fifteen minutes for him to get it straight in his head what he was supposed to do.  It was ridiculous and he knew it, but it was incredibly hard to take the first step towards leaving the house, as little as he liked Grimmauld Place.  He was going to have to go to Diagon Alley and that meant people.  Lots of people.  People who knew who he was, who would recognise him and stare at him and judge him, and possibly even cause the kind of confrontation they'd had in Hogsmeade.  The thought made him sweat.

He could go to a Muggle shop for the food instead, perhaps, and leave the owl and wand for later.  That might be easier.

Not quite trusting Kreacher (or the orders his mother's portrait might be giving him), Sirius warded the room as he left and wasted another quarter of an hour giving the elf explicit instructions on what he was and was not to do while Sirius was gone, most of which involved staying well away from the bedroom.  Then he went out into the small back courtyard and Apparated to the cottage.

He had no choice but to go to Diagon Alley now.




For several minutes Sirius sat at the table and stared at the pool of mixed coins winking back at him.  He was distantly surprised that his hands, resting on the wooden surface before him, weren't shaking, for he felt remarkably shaky inside and his brain was running skittishly over what he was going to have to do again.  He was going to have to deal with people, lots of people, strangers, on his own.  He was going to have to interact with them, speak to them, look them in the face and possibly even touch them.  They were going to do those things to him.  And there wasn't going to be anyone there to help him out if anything went wrong - like him screwing up.

The tightness in his chest and the walls closing in on him sent Sirius racing outside once more, to sit on the bench and take deep gulping breaths of salt-laden air.  The irony of his constant need for open air combined with his fear of encountering people was not lost on him.  At this rate Harry was going to be perfectly safe living with him and Remus, because they would be living in the middle of the Arctic tundra, as far from the rest of humanity as they could get -

Harry.

Sirius squeezed his eyes shut and slowly bent forward until his forehead was practically touching his knees.

 _And I can really come and live with you?_

 _That's the plan._

Some plan!  What bloody use was he going to be to Harry, or anyone else for that matter, if he couldn't even go out and do the shopping?  He had to be the provider in this relationship - of a roof over their heads and food on the table - because wizard law made it difficult if not impossible for Remus to do it and Harry was only a boy, reliant on his guardians for the basic necessities of life.  He couldn't be that provider if he couldn't face the world on his own two feet.

He was ashamed of how long it took to do it, but Sirius finally managed to straighten up again and breathe normally.  Then he got to his feet - steadily - and went inside to gather up his money and other bits and pieces.

There was work to be done.

~~~

The day after the full moon, in sharp comparison to the day before, was a day of pain, exhaustion and dulled senses for Remus.  If he was very lucky - if he had eaten well beforehand, was unstressed, and the change was reasonably gentle - it might be possible for him to get up, treat his injuries and get dressed by mid-morning.  Those sorts of changes had been few and far between in the years since the deaths of the Potters and the end of the war.  A more common occurrence was to go into a change short of food (despite being his highest priority, there had been more than a few occasions when he was reduced to one lean meal a day) and overwhelmed with worries, and consequently the harm to himself afterwards had been bad.  Werewolves were tough, their injuries and illnesses healing quickly, but recovery still took time ... time that even the most lenient of his Muggle employers had been unable to overlook for long.

Today he awoke without clear knowledge of where he was.  As usual he had to adjust to the sudden wash of colour and light around him, and the dulled sounds, smells and tastes on his tongue.  Every joint and muscle ached with a vengeance.  And yet he didn't feel as bad as he had mentally braced himself to feel.  There were no searing wounds where he'd torn at himself with his own teeth, no dislocated joints or fractures. 

And even the dullest human nose would twitch when it was assailed by the smell of freshly-cooked bacon.

"Fancy some lunch?" Sirius's voice said.

Christ in glory.  Sirius!  It had all been a bad dream; he was going to open his eyes and find himself back in their preposterous queen-sized four-poster bed at the flat in Harrow.  And Sirius would be there, youthful and slender and handsome in his ridiculous Muggle fashions, grinning crookedly and waving a bacon sandwich under his nose to tempt him ...

Well ... almost.  Sirius was certainly there, with a large plateful of sandwiches in his hands, slender and dressed in Muggle-style clothes under his wizard robe, and Remus was lying in a four-poster bed, but this was not their flat and Sirius looked older and everything was wrong, the smells, the colours ...

With an effort Remus made the mental adjustment.  Of course they weren't back at the flat.  Years had passed since then and this was the older Sirius who had been innocent and escaped from Azkaban, and had been exonerated of any crime.  And while he wasn't one hundred percent sure of where he was, this must still be Grimmauld Place as he was sure he vaguely recalled something about a cellar and rather rare steak.

Of all things Remus most detested the disorientation after a change.

"Lunch?" Sirius prompted him again gently, and just as he had when they were younger, he saucily waved one of the sandwiches under Remus's nose.  The rich aroma of bacon made the saliva run in his mouth.

"Please ..."

"I'll give you a hand to sit up," Sirius said matter-of-factly, and he set the plate down on the bedside table while he propped Remus up on the pillows.  Then he plopped the plate down on Remus's lap and put a sandwich into his hand.  "Eat," he recommended, grabbing one himself and taking a huge bite.

It was an effort to get the sandwich to his mouth, but not one Remus begrudged.  The bacon was cooked to perfection, not too crisp and full of flavour, there was some kind of tangy relish or pickle on the bread, and the bread itself was sweetly fresh, the crusts crisp and the crumb soft and springy.

"S'good," he mumbled contentedly around a mouthful, and Sirius grinned at him just as he had in the old days.

"There's tea as well," he said.

"Fab," Remus said with a little sigh, giving in to the urge to use one of his pupils' bits of slang.  It might have been slang when he was young as well; he couldn't quite remember.  "You've been busy."

"You've no idea," Sirius said, waving his wand casually.  There was a tea-tray at the end of the bed, and the teapot and milk jug sprang to attention at the gesture.  Remus watched with rather dreamy interest as the china cups - all bearing the Black family crest - filled and drifted over to them on a charm.

"What have you been up to?" he asked, catching his cup and taking a sip.  Then he frowned.  Dulled tastebuds or no, this tea was not the blend he'd bought the other day for the cottage.  And now he came to think about it, he didn't remember there being any bacon left and the bread wouldn't be this fresh now, even with a preserving charm on it, nor did he recall buying any sandwich relish.

"I've been shopping," Sirius said, and there was a triumphant note in his voice that definitely got Remus's attention.

"You have?"

"Yep."  It was impossible to miss how pleased with himself Sirius looked as he said this.  "Went into Diagon Alley."

By himself?  Amid all the hustle and bustle of an average weekday in the wizard metropolis?  Remus blinked at him, surprised and impressed.  Only a day ago he'd have been ready to swear that Sirius was in no way ready to deal with the world by himself.

"Any trouble?"

Sirius shrugged.  "A few idiots staring.  It wasn't a big deal."

Remus suspected it had been a bit more dramatic than that, but he wasn't about to rain on Sirius's parade, not when it was quite obvious that handling the trip by himself had given him a much-needed boost to his confidence.

"That's brilliant.  So - what else did you buy?"

Sirius held up his wand.  "New wand!  The other one was giving me some trouble, which I suppose isn't surprising seeing whose house I nicked it from.  Ollivander gave me a bit of a fishy look, but he saw me all right - this one's blackthorn and dragon heartstring, like my old wand, but it's about half an inch shorter.  Works a treat."

"It's good to have the right wand," Remus agreed, smiling a little.  "What else?"

"I found a couple of good owls - "

"A _couple?_ "

"I thought we could do with an owl of our own," Sirius explained.  "He's a barn owl with a bit of mischief in him - reminds me of Digger a little."  He smiled reminiscently.

"Does he now?" Remus murmured.  He remembered Digger, Sirius's owl from their school days, rather well and "a bit of mischief" was something of an understatement.  "Does he have a name?"

"I was thinking of Loki."

The corners of Remus's mouth began to twitch irresistibly.  "I see.  What about the other one?"

"I've already sent him off to Ron Weasley, but I had to send his cage by express owl - he was a bit small to manage it himself.  I hope the lad likes him."  Sirius's brow furrowed for a moment.  "Smallest owl I've ever seen, you could fit him in one of these teacups with room to spare!  Keen as a dragon though."

"Anything else?"

"Yeah."  Sirius fished in the pocket of his robe and pulled out a brown glass bottle with a wax-sealed cork in the top.  "Looks like the apothecary shop just inside Karne Alley has closed down, but I think this muscle rub should be a good substitute for the one I used to get for you.  Want to find out if it works?"

Remus looked at him, amused and a little disbelieving.  It would have been a straightforward question if it hadn't been for the tiniest hint of an eyebrow waggle as Sirius said it.  He might have thought he was imagining it, actually, if it hadn't been for the matching spark of mischief in Sirius's eyes.

"You choose the worst possible moments to proposition a person," he said, his voice quivering with laughter.

"Don't know what you're talking about," Sirius said, but his grin gave the game away.  "Come on, mate, I'll give you a rub down and see if it doesn't help a bit.  This stuff says - " he paused to peer at the label.  " _Guaranteed to soothe and warm sore muscles and joints after strenuous activity_.  The strenuous activity'll have to wait for another day, but it can't hurt to loosen up your muscles."

"I don't know," Remus said doubtfully.  The way he felt at that moment made the thought of even the gentlest massage a daunting one.

"How about I start with your feet?"  Sirius took his robe off and pushed up the long sleeves of his t-shirt.

Remus wavered.  Perhaps a foot-massage would be bearable.  Admittedly, he was swayed somewhat by memories of the foot-rubs given to him by Sirius in the past; it was an odd thing, but it was something he was extremely talented at, so much so that Lily Potter had more than once expressed great envy.  (James had accused his friend of having a foot fetish, which Sirius had mischievously never denied.)

He made a feeble protest all the same.  "I don't know ... everything really hurts ... and you don't want to really, do you ...?"

Sirius ignored him, finding a towel in the chest of drawers by the window and matter-of-factly turning back the covers to uncover Remus's feet.  He settled himself at the end of the bed and lifted Remus's left foot gently into his lap.

"Tell me if this hurts," he instructed him.

It couldn't help but hurt, really, but Remus gritted his teeth and gradually the kneading fingers brought some relief to the sore and over-stretched muscles and tendons of his feet - so much so that he didn't object when Sirius moved on to his calves.

"You're really very good at this," he mumbled contentedly a while later, when Sirius was working on his shoulders.

"Just as well.  I'll probably need to get a job at some point to support us all, so it might as well be something I'm good at."

"Mm," Remus said, not really registering the words.  He was so drowsy and comfortable ...

"Sleep," Sirius said, very amused, and he ruffled Remus's hair.  "We don't have to be anywhere."

"You sleep too," Remus said, rolling laboriously onto his back as Sirius tugged the covers up around him.

"All right."

He didn't get under the covers, but he did stretch out next to Remus, which was good enough.

~~~

By early evening Remus felt well enough to get up and dress, but although Sirius had planned to make dinner for them both back at the cottage, this idea was quickly scuppered.

"Is the Floo here working?" Remus asked him, as they sipped tea at the kitchen table.

"It is and it isn't," Sirius admitted.

Remus raised a brow at him.  "Meaning?"

"It's the wards on the Floo," Sirius explained.  "Mother's restricted it to outgoing traffic by a limited selection of people that doesn't include us.  Why?"

Remus smiled wryly and rubbed his eyes.  "I'm wondering how we're going to get back to the cottage."

"I'll Apparate you - "

"Pads, I'm really not up for Apparition at the moment, even side-along - you know what it feels like, even to a perfectly healthy person.  And if we have to take two or three different fireplaces to get home, I'm not going to be able to Floo either.  One direct trip I could manage.  Anything more could land me in someone's hearth in Inverness, in a messy heap."

Sirius looked blank.  "Then how are we going to get back there?  I can't risk an unregulated portkey, I bet they'd love me to do something like that just after I've been released!"  He brightened again just as quickly.  "I could take the Floo to Hogsmeade and get my bike from Hagrid, and we could fly - "

"You'd still have to fly it from there to here first," Remus pointed out.  "Even if you went now, you'd never get back before midnight and then we'd still have the trip to Devon to do."  That stumped Sirius, but Remus could see him frantically trying to think of an alternative.  "We could stop here for another night," he said gently, too drained even to brace himself for his partner's reaction.

"No!"

"Yes.  Sirius, what choice do we have?  And you managed well enough last night and today.  Will one more night really make so much difference?  Surely it was much worse in the cellar?"

"I was a dog in that cellar, and I was too busy being beaten into the floor by the wolf to take much notice of the surroundings!"

Remus flinched.  _That_ tone he recognised of old and he hadn't missed it at all; the vicious snap like a cornered dog when Sirius felt frightened and under pressure.  Part of him was a little surprised that he hadn't heard it already, given how stressed Sirius had been over the past few days.

There were any number of retorts he could have made, but in the end he went with his bone-deep exhaustion and simply looked at Sirius until he flushed and looked away.  In an odd way that was endearing of him, for it was all too like his teenaged self when he realised he'd said something that was beyond the pale and yet was still being forgiven for it.

"I do appreciate how much you loathe this house," Remus said gently after a moment or two.  "I know you think I can't, but I do.  I've learned to live with a lot of horrors while you've been gone … and so have you.  If we can't defeat your demons here then we're not the Marauders we thought we were."

"I swore I'd never spend another night under this roof," Sirius muttered.

"I swore I'd never eat pea soup again," Remus said dryly, "but I swallowed my pride and did it - I'm not mocking you," he added more sharply when Sirius raised angry eyes to his face.  "I'm pointing out that we all make oaths when we're young that don't hold up to scrutiny when we're adults.  I know you better than most, Sirius, so I know some of this is your pride speaking, because you walked away from your family and swore you'd never come back to them.  Well, I'm telling you that four walls and a roof don't make a family.  It's just a house.  A rather grotty house with some extremely unattractive features and an unappealing past, but still just a house.  If you're hell bent on making a point to your family, most of whom are dead or in Azkaban, then I've no patience with you.  If, on the other hand, you're up for thumbing your nose at them and proving you're the better man, then I'm behind you all the way.  So let's start right away and reclaim this house as our own, in the face of your mother's portrait."

Kreacher chose that moment to wander through the kitchen, hitching up his filthy loincloth with one hand and plucking at his yellowing ear-hair with the other.  He shot them a look of blistering contempt and loathing, and muttered "Scum!" as he passed them.

"I have to admit that the house-elf is a bit much, though," Remus said levelly.

~~~

A few days later Remus returned the keys to the cottage to his parents.

"I've left everything as we found it," he told his mother, as she put them back on the hook inside the pantry.

"Where will you live?" she asked him, eyeing him worriedly.

"We're staying at Sirius's parents' house for now," he replied, "although I don't think we'll stay there in the long term.  Sirius has some very bad memories of the place - it doesn't do him any good."

"Is that the Manor?" his father asked abruptly.  "The Blacks had some sort of big house in the country, they say, a manor house.  Kind of thing their sort _would_ have."  He was concentrating on refilling his pipe when Remus looked at him.

"No - at least, yes, there is a manor house, but there's a house in London too and we're staying there.  I think Sirius might sell it eventually, but it's in rather poor shape.  We're going to try to put it into some kind of order."

Romulus snorted sourly and turned away, shaking his head.  Remus watched him leave the kitchen with a familiar heavy-hearted sense of regret.

"He only worries about you," his mother said unexpectedly.

There were a lot of replies Remus could have made to this, but there was no point so he smiled at her.  "There's really nothing to worry about, Mum.  We'll be fine."

"You look tired," she told him.

He _felt_ tired.  Sirius had accepted that staying at Grimmauld Place was the best course of action at present but it didn't make him happy and, worse, it _did_ make him have nightmares.  That one brief moment of friskiness after the full moon had slipped away, leaving him a weeping, shivering wreck for part of each night.  But Remus knew he probably would have had nightmares even at the cottage.  He hoped that in time Sirius would talk to him about them, but at the moment he was stubbornly denying there was anything wrong.  It was completely like him, but it made for a very poor night's rest for them both.  In fact, the only positive point was that he was less jumpy sharing a bed.

Remus had no intention of telling his mother that though.

"There's a lot to do," he said instead, and she nodded.

"Been closed up all these years, has it?  You've a job of work on your hands then."

"Haven't we though!"

"Got everything you need?"

He was touched by this, but thought it best to decline.  "Thank you, yes.  In some ways we have almost too much," he added ruefully.  At her questioning expression, he explained, "There's a house-elf, but he's become a little … strange.  Too long on his own with no one to talk to but a portrait of Sirius's mother.  And _she's_ even more insane than the elf."

"I've always said it's better to make do for yourself in life," his mother said dryly.

~~~

Kreacher, of course, was not the worst part of the problem, although he certainly didn't help matters.

On balance, the worst part was probably the portrait of Sirius's mother.  Remus had vaguely hoped that because she was obviously a very elderly lady she might be hard of hearing.  No such luck.  On the contrary, she had very acute hearing, which meant that unless they kept noise in the hallway and on the staircases and landings to a minimum, she would wake up and start screaming.  This had the effect of making Sirius scream quite a bit too, and generally speaking it was rather nerve shattering for all concerned - except for Kreacher, who would observe these frequent altercations with malicious enjoyment.

Unfortunately, one _really_ nerve-shredding afternoon spent enduring her high-decibel insults while they worked on her frame only served to confirm something the two men had feared: the portrait had been fixed to the wall with a Permanent Sticking Charm and there was no way of removing it.  This had the effect of putting Sirius into another roaring temper, not that Remus could blame him.

Besides Mrs. Black, there were a number of other portraits in the house.  Most of them were hanging on the walls of the staircase and nine times out of ten would be woken up by Mrs. Black's shrieks only to join in themselves.  They at least could be silenced without too much difficulty, and in a few cases removed entirely, but they liked to make comments which meant that Sirius spent a lot of time arguing with them, no matter how many times Remus tried to persuade him to ignore them.

Then there was the tapestry.  It was in the drawing room and took up most of one wall; it was a family tree.  According to Sirius, most of the First Families had one just like it.  Remus would have found it interesting if it hadn't been for the charred little holes on it here and there where an unfortunate family member had been violently erased.  One of those holes obliterated Sirius's own name, while another wiped Andromeda Tonks from between her two sisters.  A third, in the previous generation, was apparently Sirius's Uncle Alphard who had left him his inheritance.

"Badge of honour," Sirius said with an ugly laugh, fingering the blackened spot where his name should have been.

"Do you want to take it down?"

"Hell, yes!"

Except that they couldn't.  More of Mrs. Black's Sticking Charms fixed it securely to the wall, and it resisted all attempts to shift it.  Remus expected Sirius to lose his temper all over again, but his partner merely stared at the tapestry in wordless dudgeon.

"Not a surprise, then?"

"Not really.  This thing meant more to her than the family members it represented."

"I see."

It was rapidly becoming evident to Remus that they needed to work out a plan for dealing with the house.  At present they were just drifting from room to room, trying to fix the most obvious and irritating problems, but if they were going to make this place saleable (which, he had to admit in the privacy of his own mind, was beginning to seem unlikely - but one never knew) then they needed to destroy any infestations, clean everything up, get rid of anything dangerous and generally try to make it presentable.  Although he was inclined to think that the best they could hope for was to strip it down and sell it as "in need of significant renovation", which would knock a sum off the value but couldn't be helped.

At least it wasn't haunted.  According to Sirius, all the family ghosts were at the Manor - something that Remus couldn't view with anything but misgiving after encountering the portraits at Grimmauld Place.  Unfortunately, "not haunted" was the best that could be said for it, and after a particularly trying afternoon, when they'd tried to clean out the old glass-fronted cabinets in the drawing room while fending off Kreacher (who made many poorly-disguised attempts to interfere) and the aggressive contents of the cabinets themselves, even Remus reached the end of his patience.

"Merlin, Padfoot, how the devil did any of your ancestors survive long enough to keep the family line going?" he demanded, after being bitten by a snuffbox and chased around the sofa by a pair of silver sugar-tongs.

"I always assumed they were like poisonous snakes," Sirius explained, "immune to their own venom, you know?"

"Well, one thing's for sure - we can't bring Harry here to live.  It'd be a great thing if we protected him from stray Death Eaters only to have him eaten by one of the rugs."

For the first time that day Sirius grinned at him.  "Can you imagine Dumbledore's face, though?"

Another important job was modification of the wards.  If the house was to be sold - or even to be used with any ease - some of the more elaborate and specific protections would need to be removed.  Neither of them wanted to do this without first discovering how those protections worked, though, and in particular Remus wanted to be able to replicate some of them.  The Misdirection Charm that prevented people finding number 12 Grimmauld Place was particularly elegant in its execution, as was the unusually powerful Unplottable Charm that made the house virtually invisible.  Remus could think of only one other spell quite so effective and that was the Fidelius Charm, but he avoided mentioning this to Sirius who was sure to be sensitive on that subject.

They spent over a week sitting on the hallway tiles surrounded by scraps of parchment and quills, periodically renewing Mrs. Black's silencing charms and breaking for tea, while they examined the ward plate under the mosaic.  How the charms had been executed was simple enough to work out.  Removing them would be another matter.

"What did you say to Dumbledore about blood magic essentially being malign?" Remus asked wearily, at length.  He was sitting with his back against the wall and let his head fall back until he was staring up at the cobwebby, snake-shaped gaslights above.

"Now you know why I said it," Sirius replied.  He was lying flat on his stomach, contemplating the ward plate pensively.  "This kind of thing was my mother's forte.  She knew a lot about blood magic and death magic - she and my father made a pretty horrifying partnership between them."

"What was his speciality?"

There was a long pause, then Sirius sighed.  "Animation."

"Really?"  Remus was astonished.  "That's an incredibly rare gift!  The only other Animator I know of is Professor Flitwick - he's a master."

"So was my old man.  He was head of the Brotherhood of Animators for a while."  Sirius grimaced.  "It was one of the things we quarrelled about."

Remus looked at him.  "What do you mean?"

"It really burned him.  It's a family gift but Reggie didn't inherit it, you see - I did.  And no way in hell was I going to apprentice myself to my father, because I knew the kind of Animation he practised.  He got the Brotherhood into all sorts of trouble with the International Confederation of Wizards before his term as the Grand Master was up.  That was one of the reasons we fell out."

He sat up slowly and scratched the back of his head, rumpling his hair wildly.  His expression was impossible to read, but Remus could guess that "fell out" was a severe understatement.

"You never told me," he said softly.  "It explains a lot, mind you - how you managed to make the bike fly, for one thing, and a bunch of your tricks at school.  But Pads, Flitwick would have apprenticed you and you could have trained properly - why didn't you talk to him?"

"Because I liked him and I didn't want him to lock horns with my father - or worse, with my mother - "

 _"MISBORN BRAT!  UNGRATEFUL, UNDUTIFUL, UNFEELING - "_

Remus cast the Silencing Charm on Mrs. Black's portrait without a second thought and turned back to his partner.  "I don't know what to say," he admitted.  "Did James know?"

Sirius shrugged.  "I don't remember talking to him about it, but he probably did.  We're distantly related through one of my female relatives so the gift was in his family too.  He didn't have it - at least I never saw him Animate anything - but his father definitely had a touch of it."  He raised his brows thoughtfully.  "I suppose Harry could have it.  Do you think?"

"Impossible to say.  He's a strong wizard, certainly, with or without it."  Remus made a face.  "Animation has a bit of a tarnished reputation this days."

"Yeah, that'd be my dad's influence."

"That being the case, perhaps it's as well if it passed Harry by.  He has enough to cope with, without people comparing him to someone like your father."

"Good point."  Sirius sighed and tucked his wand into his sleeve.  "Well, getting back to the original issue - my mother clearly sealed _all_ of the wards and charms on this house with blood, and while I can wipe out the ones relating to most of the dead relatives, she obviously did something extra special to the Unplottable and Misdirection Charms.  I can think of a couple of ways of removing them - using blood magic to wipe the ward plate clean or burning it in the kitchen stove until the runes are seared off.  Or we could smash the ward plate completely.  The problem with these methods - "

"- Is that any of them will leave the house completely unprotected," Remus finished for him, and he sighed.  "Marvellous.  You realise that using blood magic will probably involve washing the damn thing in a couple of pints of your own?  And since it's almost certainly illegal, it'll probably bring the Aurors down on us and send you straight back to prison, especially seeing as they'll be able to find the house once you've done it."

Sirius grinned, but there wasn't a lot of humour in it.  "I can see we're going to have to do some research, because I refuse to accept that those are our only options.  But until then ..."

"The house is going to stay unsold."

~~~

At school, the Marauders had made a career out of bending and circumventing rules, and Sirius in particular had never taken kindly to being thwarted in any way.  It took no genius whatsoever to understand that his childhood had set him up for a lifetime of confrontations with authority, both overt and covert (something which had proven an interesting challenge on both sides when he was apprenticed to Mad-Eye Moody as an Auror), and that any kind of restriction placed upon him by a family member, especially his mother, was inevitably going to prove intolerable to him.

So it came as no surprise to Remus that his partner, having received one check from the ward plate, would promptly start looking at other ways around the wards, starting with the kitchen Floo point.

"You know, this seems like an odd sort of place to have the Floo in a house like this, now that I come to think of it," Remus remarked, watching as Sirius removed the facing plate from the controls on one side of the fireplace.  Adjusting Floo settings was a ticklish business that most people preferred to leave to the officials of the Floo Regulation Authority, but Sirius, of course, was not most people.  "Why not the drawing room?"

"There was always a Floo point in here," Sirius said.  "I don't know why, especially as it was mostly restricted to outgoing traffic anyway.  The main Floo point was in the drawing room, but I looked at that one the other day and it's been disabled - the controls have been taken out entirely.  Now, you _can_ force a connection without proper controls - remember when we managed to open up the Gryffindor Common Room fireplace for an afternoon that Christmas? - but it's pretty unstable, even if a Floo engineer does it, and you can't guarantee it'll drop you in the fireplace you asked for."

"You could just get an engineer to come and open up this one for you properly," Remus pointed out, a little amused.

"We'd have all the hassle of getting him into the house in the first place, and there's no guarantee he'd be able to fix this.  I'm willing to bet ..."  Sirius paused, poking something carefully with his wand.  "Yep, I thought so.  She's warded the Floo through the controls.  Never one to take chances, my mother.  Now let's see how she did this ..."

It took him nearly three days to modify the restrictions on the Floo to allow them to travel in and out by it.  It did make things a little easier, Remus had to admit, bypassing the Misdirection Charm which had made leaving the house (and more importantly, returning) a serious aggravation for him.  That was good enough for them, but allowing access by anyone else took a couple more days' work and a lot of swearing on Sirius's part.  Even then he was limited to setting up 'ward exceptions' for anyone he wanted to allow through the Floo, which would mean getting each individual to donate a drop of blood onto the ward plate inside the Floo controls.

"And you know what?" he told Remus in disgust, when he finally made it to bed.  "None of it'll guarantee you access to anyone's fireplace at the other end!  I can think of half a dozen people off the top of my head who'll have their fireplaces closed to anyone coming from this house."

He flopped into bed next to his partner and let out a long sigh that was more of a groan; he'd worked until nearly midnight to achieve this rather minor success.

Remus couldn't help a wry chuckle.  "I have to admire your mother's determination, Padfoot.  She didn't leave a stone unturned in her determination to isolate herself from the rest of us squalid dregs of humanity."

"It was probably what did for her in the end," Sirius retorted.  "Anyway, we should be able to get to and from places like Diagon Alley, so that's something.  I'll call on Andromeda tomorrow and see if she wants access too."

He looked terribly tired and Remus rubbed his arm gently.  "Relax and enjoy your triumph," he advised.

"It doesn't feel like a triumph."

"I'm not talking about the Floo."  Sirius raised his brows at him questioningly and Remus smiled, a hint of a tease in the curl of his lips.  "I'm about to admit I was wrong about something and you were right."

Sirius rolled onto his side to face him, beginning to grin.  "Go on."

"You were right - we can't possibly live here.  In fact, I really don't want to.  Battling with aggressive clocks and trinkets, constantly putting up with insults from your mother and your house-elf, exterminating doxies, giant spiders and chizpurfles, cleaning _everything_ without any hope of it ever really being clean, and fighting the wards - it's all finished me off.  I'm begging you, take me to live in a ditch with you somewhere before I go mad!"

Sirius let out a muffled snigger and they collapsed against each other, laughing until they were weak.

"Though I don't know why we're laughing," Sirius said presently, when they'd calmed down a little.  "So much for being able to sell this damned heap of mildew and dustballs!  Not only can we not live in it, but neither can anyone else.  What's to laugh about in that?"

"Because it's better than the alternative," Remus told him affectionately.  "I'm damned if I'll give your ancestors the satisfaction of seeing us rage about it!"

"There's that, I suppose."

They lay there for a while and Remus marvelled at how calm Sirius seemed at that moment, in spite of everything - for despite his determination to attack the house's ills, and the focussed way in which he'd worked on things like the wards and Floo, he'd been extremely tense for many days now, angry and depressed by turns, and his dreams had been restless and unhappy.  Remus readily admitted to himself that part of his own desire to leave Grimmauld Place now encompassed his anxiety for Sirius's state of mind, although there was no denying that everything else he'd said had been quite true.  It was astonishingly wearing to deal with constantly being muttered at and insulted by the portraits and house-elf, and a mischievous desire to wind them up by engaging them in arguments had quickly worn off.  The elf was pitifully insane (Remus could still pity Kreacher without wanting to tolerate his behaviour indefinitely) and the portraits, by their very nature, were inexhaustible.

But for the moment Sirius was miraculously relaxed and calm, the bed was actually warm for once (although only hot bricks wrapped in flannel achieved that), and the house was peaceful and quiet.  And Remus was overcome by an impulse he hadn't felt for some time.

"Forget the house for now," he said quietly, and Sirius quirked a brow at him.

"A bit difficult when we're _in_ it, Moony."

"Then imagine we're back at the flat in Harrow," Remus said, refusing to be deflected, and he reached out to dim the lamp in the bracket above the bed until nothing beyond the velvet curtains was distinguishable.

"If we were back at the flat in Harrow - "

Remus silenced him with a kiss.

A short while later Sirius said, a little bemused, "I was about to say that if we were back at the flat in Harrow we wouldn't be lying here like two Knights Templar sharing a blanket, night after night."

"That was sort of my point," Remus told him, amused and a little exasperated.  "Unless you'd rather be a Templar Knight a while longer, of course, in which case you only have to say so."

"Nobody ever accused me of having a celibate personality," Sirius said huffily, but there was a spark of mischief in his eyes that was clearly visible to his partner even in the dim light.

"Ain't that the truth!"

Remus ruthlessly pulled him under the blankets.

 **  
**

**Part 8**

They slept late the following morning, and Remus was the first to wake.  For a while he lay there, idly watching dust motes drifting in a tiny beam of sunlight that had found a chink in the curtains. Then he looked sideways at Sirius.

He was very deeply asleep, utterly relaxed and boneless, and for the first time since his trial his face was smooth of lines.  Ever hot-blooded, he had thrown the covers partially off during the night and if it hadn't been for the strange tattoo on his bicep and some faded scars on his shoulder, Remus might almost have been fooled into thinking he was a teenager again.  Even those small differences didn't make Sirius a whit less beautiful a man.  It took a moment for Remus to also realise that there had been no disturbances during the night; another first for them since Azkaban.

 _Note to self: shagging him silly beats the nightmares._   For all the humour in this thought, there was relief and gratitude too.  _We_ can _recover from this._

Taking care not to wake Sirius, he slipped out of bed and pulled on the bare minimum of clothes necessary for decency, and went downstairs to make breakfast.

One of the immediate benefits of Sirius's hard work the previous day was that owls could now deliver mail to the house; while the porridge was cooking he opened the kitchen door that let out onto the small garden at the rear of the house and had to duck quickly to avoid three of them colliding with him.  Remus had been rather impressed that the wards had managed to stop them in the first place.  Warding against humans, magical animals and 'dark' creatures was one thing, but ordinary animals (including, to some extent, Animagi) took some serious wandwork and even Hogwarts didn't have protections that went that far - hence Peter Pettigrew accompanying Ron Weasley there in rat form, without check.

 A small stack of mail was dropped onto the kitchen table and two of the owls swooped out again before Remus could invite them to take refreshment or payment.  The third was Loki and he settled on the back of a chair and accepted the offer of owl treats - although not without attempting to nip Remus in the sneakiest manner in the process.  Remus issued a tart warning to him on his likely end if he kept that up, and scooped the letters onto the breakfast tray along with the porridge bowls, cups and teapot and carried them upstairs.

Sirius woke up when he settled the tray on the end of the bed, but for once it was a slow waking instead of a sudden terrified jolt.  He turned over and blinked at Remus for a few moments before offering him a sleepy smile.

 _Nothing can ever make it the way it was before_ , Remus told himself firmly, once again pushing away the impulse to fantasise that it was thirteen years ago.  _But perhaps things can be as good for us again as they were back then._

Perhaps it could even be better than that.  There was no denying that the final year before everything went wrong had been a strained one for them.

 _Stop thinking about the bad stuff._

"Breakfast?" he offered with a smile, and Sirius pulled himself into a semi-seated position against the pillows.  Remus settled the tray between them and took a seat, cross-legged, beside him.

"You've been busy."

"I fancied a little luxury for a change."  This house held more grandeur than he had experienced in his entire life, but Remus's ideas of luxury were a little different to those of the haughty Blacks.  "I even checked the honey dipper for curses first."

Sirius grinned and picked it up, watching the honey trickling gently from the ridged tip onto his porridge.  "Only my family could have an ivory honey dipper."

"By your family's standards it's really very subtle and elegant," Remus noted.  "I like the bees carved on the handle.  Of course, the understated elegance and lack of precious metals probably explains why it was stuffed away in a kitchen drawer with some old Apostle spoons and a Muggle tin opener."

Sirius stared at him.  "A _tin opener?_   In my mother's house?"

Remus grinned at him.  "Joking!"

"Don't do that to me before breakfast, mate, I'm not up to it!  This porridge is the business, by the way."

"There are many things I'm no good at," Remus said, digging the dipper into the honey and allowing an indecent amount to plop onto his porridge, "but I can at least cook.  The mail finally arrived - I think they're all addressed to you."

"Joy."  But Sirius finished his porridge first before looking through the envelopes.  He grimaced a little.  "Shoester and Slippet ... this looks like Andromeda's writing ... oh hey, this one's for you, Hogwarts crest ... cripes, this is the Ministry's seal - "

Remus accepted his envelope and broke the seal, one cautious eye on Sirius as he tore open the letter from the Ministry.

"It's okay, it's from Shacklebolt ..."

Remus relaxed and turned his attention to his own letter, which was a brief note from Dumbledore, hoping they were both well and requesting that they keep in touch.  It contained a draft on the Hogwarts vault at Gringotts for his final salary payment and Remus wondered how difficult it would be to cash; as a registered werewolf he wasn't permitted to have a bank vault with Gringotts, so he couldn't deposit it.  It might be simpler if he signed the draft over to Sirius for him to deposit in his vault.

"Shacklebolt has all our stuff that was confiscated as evidence," Sirius said, breaking in on his thoughts.  "He wants to know where he should bring it."

"Can he enter the house if he's led inside?" Remus asked.

"Should be able to, yes.  I'll send him some directions.  I wonder what old Shoester wants ..."  He ripped the second letter open and scanned it.  "Oh bloody hell!  We'll have to go and empty the lock-up today or tomorrow.  He says that despite me paying the rent while I was in Azkaban, a landlord does have a legal right to reclaim his property if it's left untouched for ten years.  We can stall things for a while, but he doubts a magistrate would take kindly to that."

"We'll go after breakfast," Remus said, resigned.  "At least we can stash some of the gear here for now."

"Yeah, that's something.  Now what's this he's going on about ..."  Sirius moved on to the second page of the letter, his lips moving silently as he read through it.

"May I deposit my money in your bank vault?" Remus asked him.

"Of course," Sirius said distractedly.  "Oh, Merlin's big saggy bloomers!"  He tossed the letter aside and flopped back against the pillows, putting an arm across his eyes.

"Padfoot?"  Remus grabbed the sheets of parchment but hesitated to read the letter himself.  "What does Shoester say?"  Sirius groaned.  "Come on, Padfoot, don't make me decipher his god-awful handwriting!"

Sirius removed his arm to reveal an expression torn between dismay and hilarity.  "How would you like to own not one but _two_ unsaleable death-trap properties?"

Remus's brows went up.  "The Ministry's giving you back Black Manor?"

"Yeah."  Any humour slipped from Sirius's face and he sighed.  "Unfortunately."

"You knew it was likely," Remus pointed out reasonably.

"That was before I'd spent nearly a fortnight trying to fix this place."

"You don't know that the Manor will be a mess like this house."

Sirius gave him a cockeyed look.  "What do you want to bet that it is?"

Privately, Remus wouldn't want to wager anything on the chance, but he was anxious that Sirius's new, more positive mood shouldn't be dampened by the prospect.

"Well, if it is we'll just have to deal with it," he said calmly, and weathered the quizzical look Sirius gave him.

"How?!"

"I don't know until I've seen the place, Pads.  Let's not fret ourselves into an early grave about it _just_ yet, hm?  When do you want to visit it?"

"Never," Sirius grumbled.  He sighed again at the look Remus gave him, and amended this.  "Not today.  Let's empty out the lock-up first, since I don't feel like letting the landlord grab all our stuff."

"Not just our stuff," Remus said sadly.  "Some of it belongs to people who died during the war.  We'll have to pass it back to their relatives - if there are any living now.  I think the McKinnons are all dead."

"Yeah," Sirius said heavily.  He pushed back the covers resolutely.  "But before we do any of that, I'm going to take my life in my hands and have a shower.  If the plumbing kills me, sell the family silver and take Harry to live in Canada."

"Bugger that," Remus said to his retreating back.  "Have you any idea how cold it can get in Canada?"

~~~

Emptying the lock-up took most of a day but, as Remus had noted, at least they now had somewhere to temporarily stash their belongings.  His own biggest concern - aside from the stomach-churning knowledge that they had a crate and a bandbox to be returned to two long-bereaved families - was his printing press.  Unlike the small one his grandfather had bequeathed to him while he was at school, and which was still in storage with Professor Flitwick, this press was full-size and more difficult to take apart for storage.  They put it in the dining room at Grimmauld Place for the time being, but Remus wondered if their eventual permanent residence would have room for it.  He rather hoped it would; he might not have much luck in finding formal employment, but if he could set up his press again he thought he might be able to make some sort of a living and that would be a help with their finances.  Besides, he hated being beholden to anyone, even Sirius.  It went against his ingrained work ethic.

Sirius's stash related almost exclusively to his bike, but he unearthed one elderly leather trunk which, when opened, proved to contain a number of articles that had once belonged to James Potter.  He said nothing about this to Remus for the time being, but took the trunk back to Grimmauld Place along with everything else.  There might be things in there that Harry would like to have.

It was Remus's firm belief that dealing with unpleasant things was best done straight away, although if he could have come up with a better reason than "It's been twelve years already, what's another day?" he would have willingly put off trying to locate the relatives of the late Fabian Prewett and Marlene McKinnon.  Fabian, as he recalled, was the brother of Molly Weasley, which didn't make him feel much better about the business.  Contacting Arthur Weasley was probably the best way of going about it, but that didn't stop him castigating himself for a coward.

Marlene he hadn't known so well and he rather doubted Sirius did either.  She'd been a friend of Lily Potter, but Lily had had a lot of friends he wasn't particularly acquainted with.

"Dumbledore will know who to owl," Sirius said, when he mentioned the matter to him.

"Yes, I suppose he will."  And Remus made himself send Loki off to Dumbledore with a note before he talked himself out of it.

"What's in the trunk?" he asked as he set potatoes to boil that evening.

Sirius was sitting at the side of the kitchen table with the leather trunk at his feet.  "I forgot this was in the lock-up," he said.  "It's got some bits and pieces of James's in it."

"Oh."  Remus watched him open it with misgiving, but his partner seemed quite calm.

First item out of the trunk was a t-shirt with a bright gold phoenix on the front; it was grubby and had received some abuse before its owner put it aside.

"I forgot about those stupid t-shirts the pair of you insisted on wearing," Remus said quietly.

Sirius stared at it for a moment or two, then folded it up carefully and put it on the corner of the table.  A similarly abused pair of jeans followed; he turned them over in his hands and fished something lumpy out of a pocket - a baby's dummy, wrapped in a monogrammed handkerchief.

"Why was this stuff in the lock-up anyway?" Remus asked him.

"He kept a change of clothes there for a while," Sirius said.  "After Harry was born, he didn't like going home covered in singes and smelling of curses.  That was before they went into hiding, of course."

He put the jeans, dummy and handkerchief on the table too, then pulled out a pair of grass-stained trainers and an Auror's robe.

"Is it all clothes?"

"No - here's his spare wand and a copy of the Aurors' Manual … oh look, there's a handful of those propaganda notices you printed up for Dumbledore, remember?"

Remus took them from him and sifted through them.  The headlines came back to him all too easily:

 _Have You Asked Yourselves This Question?_

 _Six Lies Told By The Supporters Of You-Know-Who._

 _Don't Believe Everything You're Told!_

 _Do you REALLY Know What's Happening Under Your Roof?_

 _Your Right To Know ALL The Facts._

"Much good they did us," he said wryly.

"Oh, I don't know - you never can tell how people will respond to that sort of thing.  It's enough to make them question themselves."  Sirius pulled out something wrapped in very old, brown greaseproof paper.  "Oh God - should I open this?"

"Why, what is it?"

Sirius made a face, peeling back a corner of the paper.  "Lunch," he said, and he tossed it into the range's firebox.

~~~

When Sirius went to meet Kingsley Shacklebolt the following morning and lead him to number 12 Grimmauld Place, he was mildly surprised to see Professor Dumbledore waiting with him.

"We didn't expect to see you, did we, sir?" he asked, privately wondering how someone as colourful as Dumbledore could escape his Muggle neighbours' attention.

"Do forgive the imposition, Sirius," the headmaster said apologetically.  "I had reason to visit the Ministry this morning and happened to encounter Kingsley just as he was setting out.  Which I could only feel was fortuitous after receiving Remus's owl yesterday.  I hope I am not an unwelcome guest."

"Of course not," Sirius said.  "Sorry about the odd arrangements, but my mother was very sincere in her desire to be left alone here."

The strength of the Misdirection Charm was enough to make it necessary to lead Shacklebolt towards the house, and while Dumbledore managed to resist its compulsion without assistance, even he was impressed by it. 

"Had I not already known the location and been in your company, Sirius, I feel sure it would have fooled me too," he remarked.  "Dear me!  I believe Walburga became quite paranoid in her later years, of course."

"We've been trying to work out how my mother made it so strong, but it looks like blood magic," Sirius said as they climbed the steps to the front door.  "I shouldn't be surprised, I suppose.  Now - when we go inside, we need to be quiet until we leave the hallway, as there's a portrait of her there and she'll kick up a devil of a fuss if we wake her up …"

"I'm sorry we have to receive you in the kitchen," Remus said, when they all arrived there.  "Despite our best efforts, it's the most hospitable room in the house right now."

"Are you planning to live here?" Kingsley asked. 

Sirius had to admire his poker face; he managed to look casually enquiring as he asked the question, rather than as incredulous as Sirius was sure he must feel.

"Not in a thousand years," he said dryly.

"No - we're in agreement there," Remus added.  "I've lived in some fairly unappealing places, but this house is in a league of its own.  If I didn't know better, I'd believe it was deliberately putting up a resistance to being cleaned."

"Unfortunate!" Dumbledore said sympathetically.  "Especially as the protections on it seem to be formidable."

Sirius tried not to take this in bad part.  He knew Dumbledore well enough to know that he wasn't deliberately rubbing salt in the wound.

"Yes, well, at the moment we're reviewing our options.  We were hoping to sell this house and use the proceeds to find somewhere more congenial, but that doesn't look as though it'll be possible."

"Not without laying out a lot of money we can't afford to hire specialists to fix it," Remus said.

"Added to which, we now have the Manor on our hands too," Sirius finished gloomily.

Dumbledore's irrepressible twinkle appeared.  "An embarrassment of riches!"

"No, just an embarrassment!"

Kingsley chuckled, but although Dumbledore was clearly amused his smile was also kindly.  "One never knows what manner of use such mixed blessings may prove to be, Sirius.  Don't despair prematurely.  Have you visited the Manor?  Is it also in a dilapidated state?"

"I only heard about it yesterday morning, Professor.  We've had some other business to conduct, but I suppose we'll have to visit soon and see what sort of condition it's in."  Sirius grimaced.  "I'm not holding out much hope for it, to be honest."

"I remember it as a large house, some three storeys high, with corner towers and a central courtyard," Dumbledore mused.  "Mind you, I visited it only once or twice when your grandfather was alive.  He was a curious character."

"That's a generous description!  Mind you, I liked him better than my father - I always knew where I stood with him."  Sirius helped Remus to set out cups and saucers and pour the tea, then took a seat next to his partner, across the table from the other two men.

"I've brought your things," Kingsley said, and he produced a number of spell-shrunken boxes from his pockets.  "The department owes you both an apology - there are things here that ought to have been returned to Lupin as soon as he was cleared of complicity, and the treatment of your possessions generally was deplorable.  The war seems to have been used as a blanket excuse for the most shocking abuses and mishandling of evidence, and I must say that I find it highly dispiriting to discover that the worst culprits in the department got away with it without a word of censure from higher up."

"Alastor Moody resigned from the Aurors after the war, in protest at the behaviour of some of his colleagues," Dumbledore noted heavily.  "He was persuaded to return, but I know he's unimpressed by the management of the department these days.  No one doubts Rufus Scrimgeour's dedication and honesty, but he's too political."

"Some of it's the training," Kingsley noted.  "Standards have slipped.  We still have a good crop of witches and wizards being enrolled, but not all of the mentors are of the calibre I'd personally like to see."  He looked at Sirius.  "You trained under Moody, didn't you?"

"James and I both did."

"You were probably the last ones.  They won't let him mentor the trainees anymore - afraid he'll infect them with a healthy degree of suspicion, I imagine."

Sirius grinned despite the gloomy words.  "What they don't seem to have noticed is that Moody is still alive.  Most of the others of his generation are either dead or behind desks, I'll bet."

"You'd win that wager."

Remus took the opportunity to speak to Dumbledore.  "Did you receive my owl, Professor?  I'd like to return these boxes to the next of kin, but I'm not sure how best to approach Molly Weasley and I don't even know if any of the McKinnons survived the war."

"If you will entrust them to me, I will see they reach the right hands," Dumbledore replied.  "I suspect it will be best to pass the box to Arthur and let him choose the best way to tell Molly.  Dear me, yes - a very raw wound for her, even after so many years.  As for Marlene McKinnon's things, you are right in thinking most of her family died.  I believe there may still be a cousin in Dundee, however, in which case I will ask Minerva McGonagall to enquire."

"Thank you.  I'll shrink them for you before you leave."

"There were some things of James's in the lock-up too," Sirius said abruptly.  "Nothing of any great account, but his spare wand was there.  Do you think Harry would like to have it?"

Dumbledore hesitated.  "He may well, Sirius, as he has very few mementoes of his parents, but I would advise against sending it to him at Hogwarts.  Perhaps if you were to set it by for him for later?"

"There must be a stack of stuff at The Rose House," Sirius objected.  "Hasn't he seen any of it?"

"Harry is unaware that The Rose House exists," Dumbledore replied, and Remus wondered if he was imagining the caution in the professor's voice as he said this.  "His aunt and uncle are, to the best of my knowledge, also unaware that he is the heir to a considerable fortune.  I deemed it safer not to enlighten them, although they receive a regular sum of money from Harry's trustees for his upkeep.  He has his own vault at Gringotts containing the monies from his parents' vaults which were deposited there when they died, and in accordance with the settlement made upon him by his grandfather he receives a monthly allowance which is paid directly into his vault.  He knows nothing of this arrangement either; because he is a minor, Gringotts only deal with him inasmuch as to assist him in accessing his vault once a year to withdraw such funds as he will need for his school year.  For everything else, they deal with the family solicitors and trustees."

Sirius looked stunned for a moment.  "He doesn't know about The Rose House," he repeated finally.

"There seemed little point in telling him when the information will be useless until he reaches his magical majority," Dumbledore said, rather apologetically.

"And he doesn't know he's the heir to one of the foremost First Families?"

"Let us rather say that he hasn't been told he is by any of the adults around him," the headmaster said.  "He shares a dormitory with the heirs of two other First Families, so it may be that one of them has enlightened him at some point, but I have seen no evidence to suggest it.  Or he may simply choose not to believe it - I suspect he has little reason to do so, after all.  His present circumstances would lend no colour to the story."

When Sirius seemed too stunned to comment on this, Remus quickly stepped in.  "With respect, Professor, that's a little worrying.  A lot of expectations come with being the head of a First Family - if he grows up not knowing that, he's going to be at a terrible disadvantage when he finally inherits everything."

Dumbledore peered at him over the top of his spectacles.  "I'm not sure I agree with that assessment, Remus."

"But - he's going to inherit a seat in the Wizengamot for a start!" Sirius said.  "Not to mention more money than Petunia Evans - Dursley - could imagine in her wildest dreams!"

"Indeed.  Do you think that knowing these things at his age would be good for him?"

"It's not as though he can touch the money yet!" Remus objected.

"No, but the idea would be there."  Dumbledore smiled a little.  "He already possesses a great deal of money, Remus - the sum left to him by his mother and father was considerable and was left to accumulate, together with his allowance, for ten years.  By contrast I believe his aunt and uncle to have given him very little throughout his childhood, and Harry now believes that the money in his vault (which he doesn't realise is still accumulating) will need to last until he takes up some manner of employment when he leaves school.  Consequently he is admirably careful how he spends it, for he understands its value."

"So he's less likely to play ducks and drakes with his inheritance when he grows up," Kingsley remarked, and his brows went up.  "No bad thing.  There are enough money-happy First Family brats on the loose already, quite frankly, and they're a damned nuisance."

"The money isn't the point," Sirius said, finding his tongue again.  "The point is that he's growing up with no idea of his heritage or the expectations people will have of him.  He has a right to know these things!"

"And he will know them in due course.  Forgive me for saying this, Sirius, but I know Harry a little better than you at this point.  One of the reasons why I decided on this … deception, if you will, is that I have seen many young witches and wizards from First Families grow up over the years.  It cannot hurt him not to know that he is, or rather will be, privileged beyond the dreams of many of his peers.  This knowledge will inevitably come to him in due course.  But for now he believes himself to be nothing more than an orphan with a somewhat unwelcome degree of celebrity due to his name."  Dumbledore's tone became rather dry.  "He does not believe himself to be better than those around him, which I believe can only be a good thing."

"You placed him with that shrivelled harpy of an aunt entirely for his own safety, eh?" Sirius said, his own tone heavy with irony.

For a split second Remus saw Dumbledore's sharp blue eyes flash; then they subsided back into rueful good humour.

"His safety must be the paramount consideration," he said mildly, "but I'll not deny that there were other benefits.  Harry wasn't without his champions when his parents died, you know.  Morag MacDuff would willingly have taken him to live with her kindred in Scotland, while Petuarius Pettifer made a great many representations to me on the wisdom of letting him raise the boy in his household.  Do you think I wasn't tempted?  I'm sure you are correct in your assumption that you know Petunia Dursley better than I, but nevertheless I am far from unaware of her feelings towards her sister's family.  I knew Harry's life would not be easy under her roof, but I believed then and still believe now that it can only be a good thing that he has grown up apart from our society.  I hope that it will encourage him to question everything we pureblooded wizards take so much for granted!"

Remus wondered if it would.  Setting aside the natural perversity of teenagers, he thought that Harry was a unique enough character that no one - not even Dumbledore, perhaps _especially_ not Dumbledore - could tell how he might react to discovering this staggering windfall when he reached the first of the wizard majorities at seventeen.  He might indeed react temperately; his measured reaction to the contents of his vault argued that he might.  After all, that must have been a shocking amount of money for a boy who previously had nothing.  James, as Remus recalled, had always had ready access to vast quantities of Galleons when they were boys, so the amount in his regular vault at the time of his death must have been significant, and Henry Potter, as patriarch of a wealthy First Family, would undoubtedly have settled a respectable allowance on his son's heir.  All the same, to discover that his vault was the merest residue of his total inheritance could easily turn any boy's head.

As for the rest of it, vast wealth, automatic political power, respect and guaranteed friends at home and abroad thanks to his grandfather's extensive influence … what would a disenfranchised orphan raised by Muggles make of it?  Remus thought of Harry's smooth expression, shuttered eyes and determined lonerism, and simply couldn't imagine what it would mean to him.

"Is the estate entailed?" he asked.

"Yes," Dumbledore replied.  "That is - the house, its contents and grounds, and the various family holdings, comprising investments, bullion and certain collections of jewellery, are all naturally entailed, although I confess I'm unclear who would inherit after Harry at the present moment.  The collateral lines must have diverged by many generations, for the family has been reduced to single heirs for as much as two hundred years."

"So there _are_ limits on what he can touch when he inherits everything."

"Not much of a comfort," Kingsley remarked.  "The amount he _can_ touch is enough to make my eyes water!"

"I believe it is the political power he will wield which is the greater concern," Dumbledore said dryly.  "I feel it to be of the greatest importance that he learns the disadvantages of the world - and of the possession of wealth and power - before he is placed in a position where he may influence the fortunes of those around him."

"In that case, you might as well let him come to live with us here," Sirius commented.  His tone was more temperate than Remus expected.  "There are enough disadvantages of pureblood mania on display in this house to put anyone off."

Dumbledore's eyes regained their irrepressible twinkle at this.  "I would not be opposed to Harry receiving limited exposure to your family's - ah - _oddities_ if you could convince me he would survive the experience, Sirius!"

Sirius had to agree to this, if somewhat wryly.  "Still … there's a lot to be learned from the protections on the house."

"And perhaps at the Manor?  I would imagine the protections there are quite formidable.  It would be strange indeed for your mother to fortify only this house and not the ancestral home of your forebears."

"In that case we may never know," Remus said.  "If the fortifications are more powerful than these, we may not be able to get inside."

"Stop trying to raise my hopes," Sirius said, and they exchanged grins.

~~~

 It turned out that Kingsley hadn't hung around for Remus's excellent tea-making skills.  When Sirius returned from escorting Dumbledore off the premises, he was waiting with a determined look on his face.

"What are you planning to do with yourself, now that you've been exonerated?" he asked bluntly.

"Pardoned," Remus murmured as he tidied away the cups and teapot.

The Auror gave him a frowning look and turned back to Sirius, waiting for an answer.

"I have to sort out some sort of accommodation for the two of us and - I hope - Harry," Sirius said.  He dug his hands into his jeans pockets, a mannerism that wasn't nearly as casual to Remus's eyes as it probably was to Kingsley.  "Somewhere that, for obvious reasons, isn't here."

"I'm not talking about your domestic arrangements.  What are you planning to do with yourself until Gringotts, the Ministry and your solicitors have finished their death-match over your family's money?"

"I have some money of my own," Sirius said warily.

Kingsley quirked a brow at him.  "The pot of gold your uncle left to you?  How long will that last?"

"How do you know about that?"

"I made it my business to know everything about you when you flitted out of Azkaban.  I assume you didn't become an Auror for the fun of it when you left school."

"You'd suppose wrong," Remus said, _sotto voce_.

"It'll last a while," Sirius said after a pause.

"Not long, even with the stipend for caring for the Potter boy - always supposing you get custody of him.  Accommodation, day-to-day living expenses, solicitors' fees … these things add up and eat quite a hole in your wallet.  If the legal squabble over your family's funds takes a year or more, you're going to need to get a job to support yourself."  Kingsley gave him a meaningful look.  "Could be tricky, even with the exoneration - excuse me, _pardon_."

"And your point is?"

"You led us a rare dance after your escape, Black.  As I told you at Hogwarts that day, you were an education for all the Aurors trying to track you."

"I'm flattered."  Sirius was beginning to bounce slightly on his toes, a sign of agitation that Remus watched with hidden concern.

"I'm not flattering you."  Kingsley's tone was dryly matter-of-fact.  "I'm making a point.  You were one of Moody's final trainees before he was manoeuvred into resigning after the war, one of the last ones to receive the traditional Auror training, not the milk-water programme Fudge approved when he took office - "

"And how did _you_ escape that?" Sirius demanded.  "I don't remember you from when I was at the department!"

"You wouldn't, I didn't do my training in Britain."

"Look, what's your point?"

Remus braced himself at the belligerence in his voice and glanced warily at Kingsley, but the Auror seemed unmoved.  Surely someone of his experience couldn't miss Sirius's rising anxiety?

"My point is that we need Aurors of your skill and experience, and you need a job," Kingsley said calmly.  "There's a job offer on the table if you're interested."

Silence.

"Not as a field Auror, surely," Remus said eventually.  "Even with the official pardon - no one at the Ministry is going to want Sirius Black back at the sharp end of magical law enforcement."

"I want him there," Kingsley said.  He raised his brows at Remus, then looked at Sirius.  "Moody wants you there.  I can name quite a few Aurors who are interested in the idea."

"You and Moody aren't in charge of the Division," Sirius said.  His expression was suddenly very blank.

"No, Rufus Scrimgeour is in charge of the Division and Amelia Bones is in overall charge of the Magical Law Enforcement Department.  Scrimgeour is … how shall I put this? intrigued by the suggestion?  He's agreed to the idea in principle.  And Madam Bones has indicated a willingness to listen to any arguments in your favour."  Kingsley made a _there you go_ gesture with one hand and folded his arms.  "Are you interested?"

The two men stared at each other for a long moment.

"Am I interested in working for a bunch of people whose standards you've freely admitted have slipped?  The same people who put me in Azkaban without a trial, without even questioning me under Veritaserum, who allowed the real murderer and traitor to escape without bothering to follow up my version of events?"  Sirius's voice began to rise.  "The same people who harassed Remus for the crime of being married to me and carried on harassing him for twelve years?"

"Padfoot - "

"Did you think I wouldn't guess that they were making your life a misery while I was in prison?" Sirius demanded.  "I'm not stupid, you know, I know the kind of crap some of them used to dish out to any werewolf they came across, so they must have had a field day with you - the mass-murdering Death Eater's boyfriend!"

Remus drew a breath and shut his mouth.  He didn't see the point in saying anything; it would only upset Sirius more, he thought, and in any case Kingsley was well able to take care of himself.  Besides, it couldn't hurt for him to see just what state Sirius was in - and then judge for himself whether it was a good idea to invite him back into the Auror Division.

Although it was possible he wouldn't see a little traumatic instability as a problem.  God knew enough of the current Aurors weren't exactly stable either (Moody being the most shining example Remus could think of).

"All good points," Kingsley acknowledged.  "But it's become clear to me over the last few years that nothing will change if we don't start within the Division.  I can't do that with a handful of admittedly good but wet-behind-the-ears Aurors with less experience and seniority between them than the office teapot.  And Moody's support isn't always helpful, for obvious reasons."

Sirius looked down for a moment and when he raised his head again Remus was distressed to see that he had regained all the lines and premature ageing in his face that he'd shed over the past few days.

"Two of my dearest friends died because of me," he said harshly.  "Their son was orphaned and my partner spent twelve years on the breadline.  And I spent twelve years in prison, with a bunch of Dementors for company and the dubious pleasure of watching my brother die and my cousin go insane.  Do you really think that's going to make me some sort of pin-up boy for reform in the Division?  Because I don't."

Kingsley studied him for a long moment.  "I'm not asking you to make a snap decision - "

"Pity!  Because the answer is _no_."

Sirius turned on his heel and stormed out of the kitchen.

Remus decided that an apology was not in order on this occasion.

"He has a very good point, you know," he said, when Kingsley didn't say anything.  "Aside from anything else, I really don't see how he could just take up his old job again as though nothing has happened.  I mean, surely for every Auror who wants him there, there must be another three who believe the claptrap Fudge burps out every time he opens his mouth?  They can't be _that_ unrepresentative of the general population."

"He'll have the same problem wherever he goes," Kingsley said.  "Whatever he does, he'll have to face up to that, and at least as an Auror the kind of scrutiny he'll get will quickly disprove any lies about him."

Remus wished he had Kingsley's faith in the other Aurors.  Personally, he was more worried that a resentful colleague would try to stitch Sirius up; they certainly had the means and knowledge to do so without too much difficulty.  Saying this seemed unnecessarily provocative, though, and he suspected it would also be redundant.  Kingsley must know his colleagues better than anyone.

"Perhaps so, but right now he's not exactly stable," he said instead.  "Putting him in the front line in a stressful job like that can't possibly help and in fact I think it would make him a lot worse.  He needs time - "

"I know he does.  I'm not suggesting he rejoin us tomorrow, or even in a few weeks.  The pair of you have too many other demands on you at the moment.  But when his domestic life is more settled he may want to reconsider." Kingsley shrugged.  "The offer will stay on the table for the foreseeable future - all he needs to do is contact me.  And consider this, Lupin; once you've sorted yourselves out, once he comes to a standstill, then having a job will offer him something to direct his energies into.  A man like Black, after all he's experienced, needs mental and physical occupation.  I believe you know this already.  And we have the facilities to help him if the instability is more than passing reaction to his imprisonment - "

"He's not insane!" Remus interrupted sharply.

"I didn't say he was," Kingsley said, unmoved.  "But there's no denying that his family history tends towards ... nervous disorders."

"If you're referring to Bellatrix Lestrange - "

"She was mad before she went to Azkaban, according to her records.  And the brother - Regulus? - he wasn't dealing a full deck either."  Kingsley tilted his head on one side, studying Remus for a moment.  "Has Black told you how his brother died?"

Remus felt himself go cold.  "No, but I got the impression that Regulus, that he ... he hurt himself, didn't he?"

"According to the report filed afterwards, he went insane fairly quickly," Kingsley said.  His tone was clinical, but something in his expression told Remus that this was his 'professional' voice and not a reflection of his true feelings.  "When he started hurling himself at the bars of his cell non-stop, they chained him to the wall by one wrist, but he became so desperate to escape the restraint that he chewed his hand off.  By the time the human guards realised what had happened he'd bled to death."

At Remus's stricken silence, Kingsley raised his brows.  "I assume Black knows that?"

It took an extraordinary effort to find a voice to reply to this.

"He could see him.  He was in the adjoining cell, an arm's length away."

~~~

Remus went looking for Sirius some time later.  It wasn't hard to locate him; he was doing something in one of the bedrooms and quarrelling noisily with Kreacher over it.

Remus wondered whether he would have bothered to even take notice of the house-elf when he was a boy ... and if Kreacher would have been able to argue with one of his masters back then.  It raised questions over what had happened to the relationship between them, given that the bond between master and servant was supposedly a magical one that placed considerable restrictions on elves.  But Remus was in no mood to ponder the philosophy of house-elf enslavement at that moment.

From the decaying grandeur, and the very dark and almost martial design of the furniture, Remus deduced that the room had once belonged to Sirius's father.  It was as dusty and neglected as the rest of the house, but more chaotic now for Sirius was engaged in going through every cupboard and drawer and throwing out the contents.  Apparently Mrs. Black hadn't disposed of her husband's belongings after he died.  Every item of clothing he pulled out and tossed into a messy pile on the floor Kreacher would try to retrieve, loudly declaring that Master was making a mess while muttering bitter and spiteful reproaches as asides.  Sirius would snatch them back, sometimes getting into a tug of war with the elf before he could throw them back onto the pile and return to the wardrobe to pull out yet more antiquated pairs of trousers, waistcoats, shirts, socks and innumerable other garments.

Remus watched for a few minutes, but when one argument between Sirius and the elf ended with a shirt ripped in two and Kreacher howling his outrage, he decided he'd seen enough and stepped through the door.

"That'll do, thank you, Kreacher.  You can go," he said firmly.

Kreacher didn't look at him, but said in a deeply hostile tone to a handful of cotton shreds, "The beast is trying to give Kreacher orders, but Kreacher knows who he must give service to.  Kreacher knows his mistress is never permitting beasts and mudbloods inside her house and never shall Kreacher - "

"You will obey Remus Lupin as you obey me," Sirius snapped.  Then he rather spoiled the crispness of this order by grumpily adding, "Not that that's saying much!"

"Kreacher lives to serve Master's every whim," Kreacher said in a servile voice, bowing grovellingly.  But he too couldn't resist an addendum: "Oh! that Kreacher should have come to this, serving Mistress's ungrateful, unworthy son and his nasty friends!"

"You can go," Remus told him more sharply.

The elf tried to resist, and the effort reduced him to angry tears, but eventually he shuffled out, shooting resentful glares over his shoulder as he did so.  Remus shut the door behind him, and turned to look at Sirius.

"I should free him," Sirius said grimly, "but I suppose I'm not a total sadist.  Merlin knows what he'd do - probably throw himself into the Thames."

"Sod the bloody elf," Remus said roughly.  "How are _you?_ "

He looked rather perplexed by the question, if anything.  "I'm fine.  Bloody pissed off but - _oof!_ \- Moony, what - "  Sirius shut up abruptly, bewildered by Remus's sudden fierce embrace.  "Moony?"

"Don't worry about what Shacklebolt said."

"I'm not.  Is _that_ what you're going on about?"

Remus leaned back, staring into his face for a moment.  For someone who had been showing every sign of being on the verge of an hysterical breakdown twenty minutes ago, Sirius looked remarkably calm.

"Are you sure?" he asked cautiously.  "Because it seems to me that the last thing you need right now is to take a job with the Aurors of all people."

"And I said no.  I'm not going to change my mind about that any time soon!"

"He got you very riled up."

"Yeah, well ..."  Sirius shrugged, embarrassed.  "When I came upstairs I found Kreacher poking around in my old man's room, and it seemed like chucking out some of his gear would be fun, so I threw his stuff around a bit and I feel a lot better."

Remus looked at the piles of clothes, all of which had been significantly mistreated.  "All right."

"I'm not …"  Sirius stopped, and rubbed his ear uncomfortably.  He tried again.  "I'm not _unhinged_ , Moony.  At least, I don't think I am.  You'd tell me if you thought I was, right?"

He said it almost jokingly, but there was a note of anxiety in his voice that made Remus hug him again. 

"You're not.  You just need time to get used to being an ordinary person again.  And you must have seen things in Azkaban - experienced things - that would make anyone feel unhinged."

It was the best he could do to provide an opening for Sirius to talk to him about it without asking straight out about Regulus, and of course Sirius didn't take the offer.  Looking at his face, Remus wondered if he'd even noticed the possible connection.  But it wouldn't do any good to press the point, so he let it go.

"Tell you what," he suggested instead.  How about we forget all this crap for a while?  Let's get out of the house - collect your bike from Hagrid, maybe, and go for a drive?"

Sirius's face lit up.  "You're on!"

 

 **Part 9**

Having his motorbike back cheered Sirius up a lot; it was a tangible link with his past and provided an easy escape route when things at Grimmauld Place got to be too much for him.  The rear garden of the house was very small, but there was a gate at the bottom of it that led out into a small rear access road.  Most of the houses in the Place had parking spaces there for Muggle cars.  The gate allowed them to store the bike and sidecar in the back garden and drive out like (mostly) ordinary folk, although they still had to be careful that there were no Muggles looking when they used it, as the house was as invisible from the rear as it was from the front.

A few days after the visit from Dumbledore and Shacklebolt, they drove to Black Manor.

The trip took several hours, as they rode the bike unhurriedly along the roads the Muggle way and the Manor was somewhere in the Midlands - Remus wasn't clear on the precise location, but Sirius seemed to know where he was going, despite the long years since he'd been there.  They started out very early in the morning, stopping for breakfast and eventually lunch along the way, and it was a pleasant drive, especially once they left the more built-up areas for the rural outskirts.  By early afternoon they were driving at a more modest pace through mixed fields and woodlands and Remus got the impression that Sirius was looking for something, a landmark perhaps, that he could get his bearings from.

"You're not lost are you?" he asked, pitching his voice to be heard over the noise of the bike's engine.

"No, we're here - I'm just trying to find the lane at the edge of the wards.  There's an entrance into it along here somewhere."

There were wards here?  Remus was surprised; he hadn't felt them and he normally would this far into the lunar cycle.  Then Sirius pointed to what looked a lot like a hole in a very high hedge bank and steered the bike directly at it.  It _was_ a hole in a hedge bank … he had to hunch up behind Sirius to avoid the worst of the prickles and branches as they drove through it … and then they were slowly moving along a very overgrown lane with bumpy potholes.

"Sorry about that," Sirius called back to him.  "We'll have to trim the hedge if we have to visit the Manor much."

"This is your family's land?"

"On the left of the lane, yes."

This area was very rural.  It looked like untended meadows with sizeable stands of trees to Remus and there was no sign of a house anywhere, despite this being very close to Sirius's own description of its location, of a house situated in a clearing carefully hidden by trees.  He wondered if Mrs. Black had practised her Misdirection Charms on the place - Sirius certainly didn't seem concerned by the lack of visible habitation.  After a minute or two of dawdling down the road, he brought the bike to a halt by a five-bar gate set into the hedge and embedded in long grass and weeds at the side of the road.

"This is where it gets interesting," he said to Remus over his shoulder.

"Is this the entrance?"

"Should be."

The equivocation wasn't reassuring.  "What sort of wards are we looking at?"

"Impossible to tell until I try to pass them," Sirius said.  He set the bike moving again and slowly approached the gate.  Remus tensed in spite of himself when Sirius didn't stop, but they passed through it without a flicker and emerged into another badly overgrown lane surrounded by waist-high scrub and shrubs, which, after a few minutes, Remus realised must actually be a driveway for it led directly up to the front of a faintly preposterous-looking old country house.

Sirius halted in front of an impressive pair of doors which stood at the head of a set of wide, shallow steps.  He switched the engine off and pulled off his helmet, shaking his hair out.  Remus followed his example.

"Well - that was unexpectedly painless," Sirius commented.  "I felt a couple of wards trigger as we drove through the gate, but they recognised me."

"And I didn't have any bizarre urges to take off in the opposite direction."

"That's because you were pressed right up against my back," Sirius told him.  "The Misdirection Charm was there all right.  Well, what do you think?"

"I think one of your ancestors had delusions of grandeur," Remus told him frankly.  From this vantage point he could see that the house had squat, ugly towers on the two front corners and ornate windows along the frontage; the overall impression was of a misguided attempt to make the building look older and more historic than it really was.  If it had been smaller and a little more peculiar it could have been classed as a folly, but as it was it was too big and ugly to deserve the name.  In fact, it rather looked as though it had been designed as a result of a grumpy compromise between two people with very differing ideas - one who wanted a fancy, castle-type building and another who had a strongly practical streak.

"They all did."  Sirius stared up at the front doors and sighed.  "Can't stay here all day, I suppose.  Ready to risk life and limb?"

"Why, what are you expecting?"  Remus climbed off the bike and unzipped his bike jacket (one item of clothing rescued from their things left in the lock-up).

"Hard to say really.  Let's keep our wands at the ready, okay?  I wasn't here when the old lady closed up the house so I don't know what sort of mood she was in or what kind of protections she thought were necessary."

"Interesting.  So how do we go about getting inside?"

"The safest route is by the front doors, I think.  The nastiest of the anti-intruder wards will be elsewhere, but I think I can reset them safely if we enter by the front doors first."

"Is there a ward plate?" Remus asked, thinking of the mosaic decal at Grimmauld Place.

"No.  This house is too big for that.  The main wards are all set into the foundations." 

Sirius led the way slowly up the front steps.  Remus could see that the black paint of the doors was badly weathered, and there was a large, ornate brass knocker shaped like a coiled snake in the middle; the head and eyes faced directly towards anyone approaching the doors and its mouth was open, fangs extended.  It looked highly unwelcoming and he couldn't help wondering if it would bite anyone who tried to touch it.  Sirius didn't try, however.  There was a smooth brass plate above the knocker and he laid his palm flat on that instead.  After a pause a number of heavy clunks echoed somewhere inside.

The doors swung open stiffly to reveal a sight almost as depressing as the entrance hall at Grimmauld Place.

The main entrance was a broad space with a grand set of stairs that faced the main doors and led to the upper storeys.  The stairs were made of some heavily carved wood that might have been ebony and were dull from a lack of care over the years.  The floor was laid out in a complicated and repetitive fan pattern of black tiles with a border in a Greek key pattern of light brown and white tiles that was set about a foot inside the walls.  The tiles had probably been shiny at one point but were now also dull with neglect, and the colour scheme - which was matched with an unpleasant olive green paint on the walls and dark brown skirtings - negated the effect of any natural light that might make its way into the area.  There was dust and debris all over the floor, including dead leaves and other garden rubbish, and when Remus turned to look he could see that the broad stained-glass fan window above the main doors was broken.  There was blistering and peeling paint everywhere and numerous tiles on the floor were loose or broken.  Cobwebs festooned the ceiling and a chandelier hanging above the centre of the hallway.  Several long windows flanked the doors on either side; their heavy velvet curtains were drawn back but the windows themselves were firmly shuttered from outside, and there were portrait frames on the walls, also dusty, cobwebby and neglected, but these were empty of occupants.  Small items of occasional furniture skulked against the walls.  An unpleasant smell of decay rose up to meet them and Remus was conscious of the peculiar mustiness that indicated the presence of mice.

"Are we going inside?" he asked unenthusiastically.

"Do we have to?"  But Sirius reluctantly took the first step over the threshold.  He stopped almost at once.  "Let me take your hand."

"That's very sweet, but I've seen scarier places ..."

"Or I could just let the dark creature wards chomp on you."

Remus grinned and stretched out his hand, clasping Sirius's warm slender fingers and squeezing them affectionately.  There was an unpleasant fizz across his skin as he stepped across the threshold, making all his hair stand on end, and somewhere in the house a bell began to ring stridently.  At once his feet were glued to the floor; he literally couldn't move.

"Bollocks!" Sirius swore.  "Hang on Moony ..."

"Could be worse," Remus heard himself say.  "I got knocked out for a couple of hours by a badly-set ward once."

"Don't let go of my hand or this one'll knock you out too."  Sirius had to fumble left-handedly for his wand and his first couple of passes with it were clumsy and inaccurate, increasing his agitation.

"Calm down, Padfoot."

"You don't understand - this'll trigger the secondary wards if I don't shut it down quick!"

He finally got the gesture right and shouted "Enough!  _FINITE!_ "

The alarm died and the fizzing sensation faded away with it.  Remus found he could move his feet again and breathed a little more easily. 

"Is that it?" he asked.

Sirius nodded, visibly relieved - but he didn't let go of Remus's hand for a couple of minutes.  "Christ, this place is a dump," he muttered, making no attempt to move any further into the entrance hall.  "It was looking a bit shabby the last time I was here - the upkeep on houses like this is pretty steep unless you have an army of house-elves.  By the time I left home, we only had a couple.  There were half a dozen when I was a kid, and Reggie and I had a human nursery-maid as well as an nanny-elf."

"Good lord!"  Remus didn't pretend to fully understand how the First Families lived, but he knew anecdotally that human servants were considered the ultimate in luxury; it was unusual for a household to have more than one or two elves - the Potters had had a least six, but most of theirs had been born into service at their house - but human servants, unlike house-elves, could not be magically bound into service and could leave their employers at will, and were consequently very expensive.  Most magical folk wouldn't hire themselves out as domestics to other wizards anyway.  "So what do you think happened?" he asked curiously.

Sirius shrugged.  "Looks like my mother may have given the elves here clothes when she moved to Grimmauld Place, but I honestly don't know.  Maybe Andromeda will remember.  If there had been any elves here now, we'd know about it, believe me."

"Given what Kreacher is like, it's probably just as well there aren't any."  Remus looked around again, feeling a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold breeze wafting through the doors.  "All right.  Now that we're in, what do you want to do?"

"No idea.  I'm open to suggestions.  Plant a couple of delayed blasting hexes and make a run for it, maybe?"

"Tempting.  Still, we really ought to have a look around and see what the damage is like first."

Sirius gave him a quizzical look.  "The state of _this_ bit hasn't given you a clue?"

"A lot of this could be weather damage," Remus pointed out.  "If nothing else, we should put some kind of fix on that fan window to stop things getting any worse."

Sirius sighed.  "Yeah, all right.  And even if we don't do anything today, we're probably going to have to come back sometime, so I'd better reset the wards.  You don't need that damn dark creature ward triggering every time we turn up."

"That'd be nice, but don't disarm it completely, love - I'm not the only dark creature on the loose."  Remus gave him a quick smile.

"The worst dark creatures wouldn't trigger the wards, more's the pity," Sirius said.  He looked around indecisively.  "We really need to think about which part of the house we're going to access the most, then I can reset the wards in that area and leave the rest.  What do you think?"

"Yes to the general principle, but I have no idea what part of the house we'll need.  How's it laid out?"

"In a kind of square with a big courtyard in the middle.  That way is reception rooms, card rooms, and the ballroom ..."

"We won't be needing those."

Sirius grinned just a little.  "The wing at the back has the library, the study, the morning room and the breakfast room.  Then on this side here - " he waved to his right "is the garden room, kitchen and servants' quarters.  The coach house sticks off the far corner, with the bathhouse somewhere underneath it.  The first floor has the drawing room, portrait gallery, dining room and a bunch of ugly little occasional rooms.  Second floor is all bedrooms and bathrooms, while the third floor is the attics."

Remus boggled at the idea of all that space.  "Um ... well, I can't see that we'll need most of it, although I wouldn't mind seeing the library some time.  The kitchen might be useful though - in fact, I could murder a cup of tea or something now.  How about we make that the main access point?  If you change the wards there, will it be a problem if we try to access the rest of the house from that point?"

"It shouldn't, but let's see what happens."

"All right, but we should secure the window above the door first and perhaps try a few _reparos_ and whatnot to sort out this area.  I think I can smell a bit of dry rot and you don't need that spreading."

"Let's go to it, then."

They set to work.  It wasn't possible to use a repairing charm on the fan window, as the glass had been too badly smashed and scattered, so Sirius found a broken floor tile and transfigured it into a shape that would fit the fan, and they secured it into place.  Then Remus put a couple of strong Impervius charms on it to prevent any more damage.  They cleared the rest of the debris up as best they could with only charms to work with, and applied drying charms to the area to banish the weather damage.  Finally, they decided to set a low level warming charm on the entrance hall and leave it in place, in the hopes that it would continue the drying and prevent any further damage being caused by cold and damp.

"Not as many rodents as I expected," Remus commented, as they finished up.  "There's smell and droppings, but not in the quantity I expected and not as much mouse-damage either."

"It's not the mice you have to worry about in this house," Sirius said.  His tone was matter-of-fact, but there was a tension in his body that Remus was concerned about.

"What do you mean?"

"My father's experiments were the thing you watched out for."

"Animations?   But aren't there strict legal limits on that sort of thing?"

Sirius grimaced.  "He didn't have much time for legal restrictions.  Besides, can you imagine anyone trying to gain access here to inspect his workrooms?  I told you he brought the Brotherhood into disrepute.  They knew what he was doing and couldn't find a way to stop him."

"So … what sort of thing are we talking about?" Remus asked warily.

"Small things - one of the things Animators prize is the ability to create very complicated objects in miniature.  Or very large objects with very small, complicated parts.  And the ability to Animate something to do more than one thing - particularly a series of tasks - is a central skill they cultivate."

"When you say 'small things' …"

"I can't describe any one thing, because I don't remember him ever making two devices the same.  Think insects, though.  Lots of legs, hard carapaces, multiple eyes - "

"Eyes?" 

Sirius nodded grimly.  "To make something move correctly, it has to have eyes to 'see', and the more complicated the eyes, the better it moves.  But a _really_ skilled Animator like my father can use the eyes for multiple purposes.  He used some of his devices to spy on us kids."

Remus was both fascinated and horrified by the idea.  "Why would he do that?"

"Well, in my case he wanted to keep an eye on me because I had entirely the wrong sort of attitude.  And he watched Reg to make sure he wasn't being contaminated by me - not much chance of that, but my parents weren't the kind of people who took chances of that sort."  Sirius shrugged.  "He probably kept an eye on Bella, Andromeda and Cissy too, but I never asked them."

"It doesn't seem to have done him much good," Remus remarked, and Sirius managed a small smile.

"Anyway, keep your eyes peeled while we're here.  I never quite worked out where the things came from or where they went off to - all I know is I was never able to catch one, they were too damned fast."

None of this was encouraging, but there was nothing to be done about it so Remus let Sirius be his guide and followed him as he cautiously crossed the wide hallway to a door set off to one side. 

"This leads to the - _arrrrgh!"_

Sirius's yell of surprise was matched by an ear-piercing scream; he stumbled back and fell, letting the door swing open, and something big, fast and silvery swooped through it, passing directly through him towards the stairs.  Even as Remus's wand was out he realised what it must be, but that didn't stop his heart racing with fright.  The figure whisked up the staircase and stopped at the first landing, hovering near the ceiling and letting out little wailing sobs.  At rest, it resolved itself into the figure of a young girl, with long pearly ringlets and a smoke-like gown in the style of the female supporters of His Majesty during the Civil War.

Trembling a little with reaction, Remus put his wand away and went to give Sirius a hand up.  He too was trembling - with anger.  As soon as he was on his feet, he stalked to the foot of the staircase and shook a finger at the ghost.

"Cousin Susannah!  Don't you hang around there snivelling!  How many times have I told you _not_ to lurk behind doors?  Do you want me to call in the exorcists?"

"Thou'rt not welcome here!"  She had a little high, girlish voice; sweet but petulant, and although she continued to give hiccupping sobs, it was perfectly obvious that she wasn't really weeping at all.  "Wicked son!  Undutiful heir!  Begone from this house, unworthy that you are!"

"Begone yourself!  I _own_ this house - what's your excuse for hanging around for centuries?  Nobody wanted you even when you were alive!"

"Ouch, Padfoot!"  Remus winced at her renewed and uncomfortably high-pitched wails.  "That's a bit below the belt!"

"Nah, not really."  Sirius never took his eyes from her as he spoke.  "Look at her neck."

The ghost at once clasped translucent hands to her throat, retreating further up the stairs and shooting Sirius a look that should have fried him where he stood.

"What am I looking for?"

"Her own sister strangled her when she was fifteen - and believe me, I can understand why!"  This last was said loudly enough to chase her up the stairs. 

The ghost burst into tears again.  "Cruel!  Heartless!"

"And why did her sister do that?"

"No idea, but I should think being terminally nosy and annoying had a lot to do with it."

The ghost fled to the upper storey with a shriek that made the empty portrait frames rattle on the walls.

"She won't stay away, now that she knows we're here," Sirius said, resigned.  "She likes to hang around behind closed doors, so be careful if you open any."

"Are there any other ghosts here?" Remus asked, as they went back to the open door.

"'Fraid so.  There's Uncle Orpheus - he hangs around the library a lot, but mostly all he does is sit around and sing."

"That sounds manageable."

"He's not a very good singer," Sirius said wryly, "and he's eternally drunk - literally, since he was drunk when he died.  Then there's Uncle Percival - he and his mistress got blown up when a fireworks display went wrong at a party.  They like to dance in the dining room, which is a bit annoying if you happen to be holding a dinner party at the time, because they dance on the table and chill all the food."

Remus laughed, and Sirius grinned reluctantly.

"And there's Septimus and his guests in the ballroom.  They got poisoned at a St. Valentine's Day dance."

"I think I remember you telling us about them at school.  Isn't there a string quartet in there as well?"

"No - the string quartet was borrowed from the Pettifers, when my mother refused to have the orchestra play a minuet for them at one of her balls.  James was there when that happened!  And before you ask, I have no idea how the Pettifers ended up being haunted by a string quartet."

"It's the kind of thing that can happen to anyone, I'm sure."

The room behind the door was surprisingly large, taking up the whole of the ground floor of one of the towers.  The sense of space was increased by the fact that what little furniture was left in there had been stacked up and covered.  If there had been rugs or carpets, they were long gone, and the wooden parquet floor was dull and dusty.  There were long glass windows all along one wall that led out onto a paved courtyard and thence onto a very untidy and overgrown lawn and garden.

"So …"  Remus dug his hands into his pockets.  "Before we were so rudely interrupted by - what did you call her?"

"Cousin Susannah," Sirius supplied.

"Right.  Before she interrupted us, you were going to tell me what this room is."

"We always called this the Garden Room.  It gets a lot of sun in the afternoon and there's a nice walk out into the small garden.  If you feel like it, you can walk around to the kitchen gardens and greenhouses to the left.  Alternatively, turn right and follow the path, and you come out onto the driveway; keep walking and you find yourself on the terrace that runs outside the ballroom and stands at the head of the formal gardens."  Sirius looked around pensively.  "Mostly it was just a nice room to sit in, though.  I think it was intended as a kind of receiving room for visitors at one time, but my grandmother liked to spend the day in it when she got really old."

"I was expecting to find another door out besides the windows," Remus observed.  "This doesn't strike me as being very convenient for anything but the main entrance."

The corner of Sirius's mouth twitched and he stepped over to the back wall of the room, near to the doorway, and waved his wand.  The wall shimmered and another door appeared.  Remus blinked.

"Wow - what does that lead to?"

"A set of spiral stairs leading to a very similar room above, and there's a second door that leads off the stairs into the servants' quarters.  From there you can access the stairs down into the kitchens.  There's another entrance into the kitchens from the far side, from the hall that lets onto the breakfast room and morning room.  Alternatively, you can get in from the outside through the kitchen garden door."

Remus ran a hand over his hair, trying to sort this out.  Finally he said, rather exasperated, "Padfoot ... is it me, or is that just downright inconvenient?"

Sirius grinned at him.  "Try to think like a tight-arsed, overbred member of the First Families, mate!  It's not _supposed_ to be convenient for the people who'll be using the servants' quarters and so on, is it?  It's convenient for the family, and that's all that matters."

Remus expressed his opinion of this in a few short, pithy words that made Sirius laugh out loud.

"And you wondered why I liked our flat so much!"

"Fine, fine!"  Remus grinned back at him wryly.  "Ignoring - for the moment - the evidence of pureblood lunacy, which route do you recommend we take today?"

Sirius sighed.  "Unfortunately we need to access the kitchens from the inside the first time, then when I've sorted out the wards we can use the garden door."

"Up the stairs we go then."

The spiral staircase was narrow, but in good condition; having seen the state of the main staircase, Remus had been expecting to find mildew and rotten steps, but the woodwork was sound and the walls, while rather dirty, were plain whitewashed.  There were no windows, of course, but there were plenty of candle sconces still filled with thick stubs of candles that lit up automatically as they ascended.

They emerged into another room that was much the same size and shape as the Garden Room below, but with much smaller windows.  It was gloomy, the windows being covered by heavy shutters, and there was a dusty, neglected smell.

"The Ladies' Solar," Sirius intoned, and he went straight to the nearest window to wrestle with a stiff catch and open it.  He threw open the shutter and early afternoon light streamed into the room, revealing an ugly green carpet under a thick layer of dust and a few pieces of furniture - wicker chairs and a couple of dainty tables - also very dusty and strung about their legs with cobwebs.  Remus went to help him and between them they got the rest of the shutters open.  The light was very attractive; the room itself less so.

"Is it even worth me asking why this was called the 'Ladies' Solar'?" Remus asked dryly, looking around.  "The room below I could understand, but this isn't my idea of a nice sunny room to sit in.  Why the devil are the windows so small?  The view over the garden would be something if they were only bigger."

"I can think of a better question," Sirius said. He was leaning against the high window cill and looked at his partner with raised brows.

"Oh?"

He pointed to the outer cill and, curious, Remus went to look.  There were small, round, metallic patches at regular intervals along the cill, and when he followed Sirius's pointing finger he saw that there were matching patches at the top of the window embrasure too.

"Merlin!  Were those _bars?_ "

"Yeah.  No idea when they were removed, but this window - and some of the bedrooms too - had bars on them at one time."  Sirius made a face.  "Don't try to touch them, there's some kind of magic deadening charm in the metal.  All bases covered!"

Remus felt slightly nauseated.  "And this has always been known as the Ladies' Solar?"

"Pretty much."

"Lovely.  That says everything."

"Yeah.  Come on, let's see what's waiting for us in the servants' quarters."

There were two doors on the other side of the room; one presumably led out into the family area, but another - rather cunningly painted and decorated so that it blended into the wall - led off at an angle.  Sirius opened this door with a charm, and when they stepped through it was into a narrow, grimly utilitarian corridor with very basic lighting and bare waxed floorboards.

"Servants' quarters and some storage," Sirius said.

Apart from the minimal decor, this corridor was in rather better condition than the rest of the house, and when Remus tested it with his wand, he discovered that there were strong preservation charms laid over everything, some of them with that peculiar 'edge' to the magic that suggested they'd been made by house-elves.

"Interesting," he remarked.  "It looks like your family's servants were a bit more careful with their own quarters than they were with the main house."

"And who could blame them?"

"All right - which door should we take?"  There were four doors.

"This one," Sirius said, gesturing to a very narrow door next to him.  "The rest lead into the servants' rooms and the box room at the end, as I recall.  This should be a set of stairs down to the kitchen."

It was, but Remus shook his head over the arrangement of stairs and passages as they made their way down.  "Talk about complicated."

"It's not, really - not like The Rose House is, anyway.  Remember James taking us on a tour one summer?"

"The Rose House has one big advantage, Padfoot - it's _hospitable_ , which, if you'll forgive me for saying so, this house isn't."

"I know."

Something occurred to Remus then, and it took him by surprise.  "You're not as bothered by this place, are you, though?  Not in the way Grimmauld Place bothers you."

Sirius hesitated.  "Don't run away with the idea that I love it, Moony."

"I'm not saying that.  You just seem ... calmer here."

"Let's just say I don't have the same bad memories of this place," he said, and he led Remus out into the large kitchen that lay at the bottom of the staircase.  "This doesn't look too bad either," he remarked.

"More preservation charms," Remus noted, looking around appreciatively.  "Plenty of room in here ... and that's a surprisingly modern range.  I was expecting a death-trap, like the one at Grimmauld Place.  Nice big table, kept in excellent condition, I might add."

"Who died and made you Apicius?" Sirius asked, amused.

"I worked in a few kitchens while you were gone.  You learn to appreciate a decent work table, the same way you learn to appreciate a good set of knives.  Wow, look at those pans!"

Rows and rows of copper pots and pans were suspended from the ceiling on hooks, gleaming dully.  There wasn't a speck of dust anywhere, and while the air smelled a little old, there was no hint of decay or rodent in the kitchen.  Everything was neatly in its place and covered in layered protective charms.  The only thing that was slightly out of place was a long welsh dresser which should have held the household's china, but which was empty of all but a few random pieces and the kind of earthenware goods used in solely in kitchens.  Nor was the china stored away in any of the cupboards or in the little scullery off to one side.  Remus was a little surprised by this, but Sirius showed no interest when he asked about it.  He was more concerned about the overall safety and condition of the area.

"If the rest of the house was in this kind of nick, we'd be in clover," he said.  He was checking everything carefully for hexes and curses and the more malign sort of wards, but the only really powerful wards were the main ones on the garden door and the fireplace.  The latter was a Floo point.

"That might explain the restricted Floo in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place," Remus suggested.

"Yeah, I was thinking that.  I'll check it in a minute and see if it's still open.  I can't find any hexes, which is a bit of a surprise."

"Is this the pantry?  Yes, it is," Remus said, answering his own question as he opened a door.  "Ah - I've triggered some kind of ward now, can you hear that?"

A bell was chiming somewhere; the sound seemed to be coming out of the pantry but was very muffled and much further away than was possible even in this substantial little room.

"There's a door at the back of the pantry into the main house," Sirius said.  "It's the main route to the breakfast room."

"Really?"  Remus stared dubiously at a wall rack full of pickle jars and condiments.  Sirius's hand appeared over his shoulder and waved his wand; the pickle jars faded away to reveal a door painted dark green.  "Well, damn.  I liked the look of that pickled cabbage too."

"It'd be over ten years old, so don't get _too_ enthusiastic," Sirius said with a grimace.  "Here, let me squeeze past you - I need to shut that ward off."

Remus shuffled to one side and picked up a wooden barrel with a tightly-fitting lid.  "The preservation charms in here are pretty strong.  I'm going to take a chance on the tea, anyway.  Do you think the water's still running?"

"Probably, but run it for a few minutes before you use it."

Remus disappeared out into the kitchen and Sirius briefly opened up the door inside the pantry so he could reach the ward 'pinnings' behind it.  A drab corridor that smelled of damp was revealed; he had to crouch down on the threshold to work.

"This would be easier if I had some chalk to mark the pinnings," he said, realigning the charms by drawing invisible runes across the threshold.

"Sorry?"

"Nothing ... talking to my- "  Sirius froze, staring.  Something had scuttled, crablike, out of the shadows and was staring back at him with multiple stone eyes.  "Fuck!"

The thing moved with incredible speed, the sideways movement changing to short, powerful hops like a flea.  Sirius's muscles unlocked just in time and he flicked a curse at it that missed - it leapt again - he stumbled backwards roaring _"REMUS!"_ and tried another curse -

A jet of blue-white fire hissed over his shoulder and hit the thing fair and square, blasting it high into the air.  The singed remains dropped to the floor with a clatter and it moved no more.

Sirius found he was shaking, not so much from the short battle but from a gut-deep fright and revulsion that had its roots in many childhood nightmares.  He sat on the floor of the pantry, staring at the foul little creature's remains - _automaton, it's called an automaton_ \- one hand gripping his wand and the other clenched in a death-grip on the lintel of the doorway.  He couldn't take his eyes off the damn thing; he felt sick, breathless and dizzy, and the room was rocking from side to side.

"Easy, Pads, easy, it's all right, you're fine now ..."

It took Remus ten minutes to ease Sirius's fingers off the lintel, and nearly half an hour to get him back on his feet and out of the pantry.

~~~

Outside the kitchen door was a scruffy paved courtyard.  Remus transfigured an ugly wooden barrel, half full of water and rubbish, into a nice wooden bench and settled Sirius there with a cup of tea.  There was no milk, but that didn't matter as the tea was one of the delicate 'afternoon' blends that could be drunk black, and Sirius was in no fit state to care what he was drinking anyway.  He recovered some of his colour out in the fresh air, though, and Remus felt safe leaving him for a moment or two.

The remains of the Animated creature were still on the floor of the passage when he returned to the pantry, but although they were badly damaged and unmoving Remus took the utmost care as he approached them, using a charm to lift and turn the half-melted mess of metal and other materials.

Even badly mangled, it brought the hair up on the back of his neck.  There was no obvious logic to the design of it, nothing to indicate why Sirius's father had chosen to make it look the way it did or behave the way it did.  It was made of metal, at least on the outside, very finely wrought, and the tiny rivets and delicate joints spoke of considerable workmanship.  Superficially, it resembled a crab, only a crab with a pair of small 'scuttling' legs on either side and powerful rear legs clearly designed to enable it to leap.  The big rear legs faced backwards like those of a grasshopper or cricket.  Four 'eyes' made of an opaque, quartz-like stone were set into a kind of circular cap on top of the main body that looked as though it could rotate 360 degrees.  In the centre of this was a small ball of clear quartz, the purpose of which Remus couldn't fathom.  And the final, worst part was the set of powerful insectoid mandibles at the front, with edges that looked razor sharp. 

Tempting as it was to simply Banish these grisly remains, Remus couldn't in conscience do that.  If there were more of these things lurking about the Manor, then he needed to know more about them so they could be dealt with somehow.  For a moment he considered seeing if the Floo was operating well enough to call Professor Dumbledore, but quickly decided it would be better to leave it for now.  Instead he searched the pantry until he found an empty biscuit barrel and he sealed the object inside it, warding it carefully.  Loki could carry it to Dumbledore the next day.

Leaving the barrel on the kitchen table, he closed up the inner door of the pantry, warding that shut as well, and restored the illusion over it.  Hopefully Sirius wouldn't need to reopen it in order to reset the main wards on this part of the house.

When he went back outside, Sirius had finished his tea and was leaning back against the wall, looking very worn and drained.  He looked up when Remus approached, though, and Remus was relieved to see that the look of numb fear had left his eyes.

"How are you doing?" he asked, sitting down beside him on the bench.

"Better," Sirius said.  He sounded ashamed.  "Sorry, Moony."

"You're joking, right?"  Remus gave him an affectionate smile.  "I'd be more worried if you _weren't_ pissing yourself after running into that thing."

"I should have expected something like that to be running around.  Didn't see any tracks though ..."

"I took a quick look at it, and I have to say - I can't even begin to guess at what your father meant it for.  Any ideas?"

Sirius shook his head.  "I don't know.  I didn't get a good look at it, and none of them ever looked the same twice anyway."

"It had some sort of cutting tools at the front," Remus said.  Sirius only shuddered.  "Well, I've put the remains in a box and I'm going to send it to Dumbledore.  I'm sure he'll be interested.  Meanwhile, a more important question is - can they be warded against?"

"Yes ... although we might not need to.  My understanding is that Animation's not like being alive or conscious, so they can't think.  They run on a set of specific commands and beyond that they're no different to an inanimate object."

"But how specific can the commands be?  And can they - I don't know - react to things?"

"Well, obviously they can react," Sirius said dryly.  "That one just reacted to _me_."

"True," Remus said.  He made a face.

"I don't know enough about the subject to say how complicated the commands can be though."

"I'd feel safer with a nice strong set of wards anyway."

"You and me both."

They sat for a while, looking out over the kitchen garden.

"Those are well-made greenhouses," Remus commented presently.  "Pity they haven't been better looked after.  And from the look of things, the vegetable plots are laid out for optimal use."

Sirius actually raised a grin.  "What are you, Sprouty's lovechild or something?"

"I like gardening - growing your own vegetables is a money-saver, you know."  Remus was looking beyond the greenhouses though.  "Lots of room here ... and solid wards on the boundaries."

"What are you thinking?" Sirius asked suspiciously.

Remus shrugged.  "Just that this might be a good alternative place for the full moon.  We can run loose without worrying about running into any humans."

"It's not the humans I'm worried about here."

"Unless you've got manticores hiding in the undergrowth, that won't be a problem."

"There are other things in the garden," Sirius said.  He didn't sound happy.

Remus raised a brow at him.  The lack of a tempestuous response was actually more worrying to him than the outbursts that had greeted the suggestion of staying at Grimmauld Place, but …  "Such as?"

Sirius shrugged.  "Weird stuff, that's all …  You know what magical gardens are like, if they're not properly maintained they start to attract Newt Scamander's infamous "fantastic beasts".  _This_ garden hasn't been properly maintained since my grandfather died - probably a bit before that, actually."

"I still think I'd rather take my chances here than somewhere like the New Forest, but if you insist then I'll make do with the cellar again."

"What happened to the rhapsodies over pork on the trotters?" Sirius asked, but he sounded resigned.

"I just wonder what we're going to do, Padfoot.  You weren't wrong when you said we're left with two old heaps on our hands, and we still have to decide what we're going to do about somewhere to live."

"I thought we agreed that we're not staying at Grimmauld Place?"

"So we did," Remus said amiably.  "So where are we going to go?  Bearing in mind that Shacklebolt is right and your vault of gold won't last long under the double assault of rent and living expenses."

"I don't know," Sirius said, and he seemed to slump into depression.

~~~

They flew back to London on the bike after dusk.

Sirius's mood had been subdued for the rest of the afternoon, although not actually difficult.  He'd accompanied Remus into the kitchen garden to inspect the greenhouses (these had been closed up fairly neatly in the main, although one was definitely beyond repair and had been all but derelict for decades according to Sirius) and then around the footpaths to check on the extent of the wards.  These were very satisfactory indeed, even if the grounds they enclosed were madly overgrown.  On one side of the estate the paths led through a small copse to a stream that was running deep and fast from recent rainfall, while the rest of the boundaries were marked by tall hedge-banks studded with unkempt trees.  There was some rustling in the undergrowth but nothing attempted to attack them, and while this was no guarantee of anyone's safety after dark, they both knew from experience with the Forbidden Forest that there were few magical creatures that would attack a werewolf - except perhaps centaurs, if provoked, and other humans of course.

Well, there were no centaurs at Black Manor and the wards were more than adequate to ensure that no humans, magical or otherwise, would be roaming the estate on a Full Moon or any other night.  In fact, the wards were impressively fierce, which made Remus wonder a little what Sirius's predecessors had been afraid of.

"I don't think _afraid_ is the word," Sirius said.  "They just didn't trust anyone.  The anti-Muggle wards are there to prevent contamination, but the others reflect their suspicion of everyone around them.  Just because they believed he had the right idea about pure blood didn't mean my parents trusted Voldemort, you know.  Any more than they trusted Fudge or Bagnold or the other Ministers, or most of their peers for that matter."

"That's no way to live," Remus said, shaking his head.

"Still, these are some fantastically strong wards," he said.

As far as the house was concerned, Sirius showed no interest in looking over the rest of it and Remus couldn't blame him for that; he didn't much fancy it himself.  He anticipated it to be much like Grimmauld Place only with the added pleasure of more Animated 'creatures' and ghosts running loose.  They did, however, take a look in the old coach-house at the back of the house, which was full of bizarre magical vehicles, and Sirius took him through a side door and down some steps into the bathhouse.  This was in disappointingly poor repair, largely due to Sirius's grandfather suffering a sudden attack of religious conscience late in life and deactivating the charms that powered it, but the main features were still all too visible in the light from their wands.  In fact, they rendered Remus speechless for several minutes.

"Tell me I'm imagining this," he said finally, staring wide-eyed at the murals before them.  There was a vast, animated orgy in progress and the action was spread across the numerous walls that comprised a Roman-style frigidarium, tepidarium and caldarium, although the small changing room at the entrance was relatively tame.

Sirius's usual wicked grin was in evidence for the first time that day.  "What do you think?" he coaxed.

"I think it's the most outrageously tacky thing I've ever seen."

"The word you're looking for is "classical"."

"The word I'm looking for is "depraved"," Remus retorted.  "Bloody hell, Padfoot - what is that octopus doing and why are those nymphs trying to get my attention?  And - is that an extra pair of legs there?  Whose legs are those?  I can't see any body attached to them!"

"Don't ask me, I spent hours watching it as a kid and never worked out who they belonged to.  Whoever it is, they're enjoying themselves - look at their toes curling."

"Somehow it comes as no surprise that you spent hours in here.  You realise it's physically impossible for a man to have an erection that big?  He'd pass out with that much blood rushing to his nether regions."

Sirius rolled his eyes.  "I don't think a faun is the same thing as a man."

"And I've heard of circle wanks, but this is ridiculous … there must be two dozen of them, and they're definitely not all human!"

Sirius sniggered.

"I think we'd better leave," Remus said severely.  "The moral tone is dropping and - good God, are that octopus's tentacles what I think they are?"

Sirius didn't stop laughing until they got back to the main house.

He wandered off to take a final look around the kitchen and servant's quarters while Remus was in the scullery, washing out the teapot and two cups they'd used.  When Remus was done, he went out into the kitchen and found that Sirius was standing on the first landing of the stairs.  His hands were dug into his pockets and his shoulders a little hunched; he looked rather fed up, but Remus wasn't sure why.

"Are you all right?  What are you doing up there?"

"Just looking into the servants' rooms," Sirius said.  He sounded subdued too.  "You know, it's the first time I've ever been in there.  I came down to the kitchen a bit when I was a kid, but I tried to stay out of the elves' way - they didn't much like having me around.  Relatives of Kreacher's," he added, by way of explanation.

"And what were you expecting to find?" Remus asked, mystified.

"Dunno, really.  They're big rooms, but they can't have been all that cosy.  I can't imagine my grandmother or great-grandmother allowing servants to have much in the way of home comforts.  They've been stripped bare, by the way.  Windows out onto the garden though."

"I'm surprised the house-elves actually had rooms as such.  Doesn't Kreacher have a sort of den?"

"Oh, the rooms weren't for the elves!  They had a dormitory on the floor above."  Sirius pointed upwards vaguely.  "These are the human servants' quarters."

"Oh.  Well …"  Unsure what was going on with his partner, Remus decided to change the subject.  "Are you ready to go?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Nowhere else you want to look at before we leave?  Your old bedroom, maybe?"  This was a shot in the dark, but it went wide.  Sirius shook his head.

"I doubt there's anything in there I want after all this time.  Always supposing she didn't strip it and burn my stuff anyway."

Mrs. Black hadn't touched his room at Grimmauld Place, which belatedly made Remus wonder why.  Had part of her been hoping her eldest son would return one day?  He wasn't about to upset Sirius by asking though.

"We'd better close the wards and get moving, then," he said instead.  "We've got a long trip back and it's getting dark already."

Sirius seemed to perk up.  "I was thinking we could fly."

Oh God.  Remus had never really felt at ease on the back of the bike when it was in mid-air.  He didn't know why, as he didn't have the same problem with brooms at all, but while he could happily ride behind Sirius on the ground he felt terribly vulnerable when it was in flight.  Perhaps it was simply because he'd had a little more exposure to Muggles as a child and the idea of a motorbike being able to fly just didn't gel somewhere at the back of his brain.

The trouble was, if he didn't fly home with Sirius then he had to insist on driving home on the ground, or take a risk and Apparate or Floo to Grimmauld Place and hope that the house protections would admit him on his own, or borrow a broom from here (there had been a couple of elderly models in the coach house) and hope that it didn't throw him off or lose power in mid-air.  And whichever one he chose, he knew Sirius would be terribly disappointed.

"All right," he said, suppressing his qualms, "but don't start grumbling at me if I hang on to you a bit tightly."

Something approaching the wicked glint returned to Sirius's smile.  "That's one of the perks, mate!"

~~~

Neither of them felt like cooking when they got home, so they landed a mile or two from Grimmauld Place, located a decent-looking curry house and bought take-away food - after a minor argument over whether a vindaloo might be a bad idea for Sirius after twelve years of bland prison food.  As it was also likely to be a bad idea for Remus after the flight home, they settled for a much milder option.  They ate it quietly when they got back to the house, then, as it was a late hour, went to bed.

Sirius had a restless night.  Remus had been half-expecting this after the visit to the Manor, but it was less screaming nightmares and more uneasy tossing and turning, as though he had something on his mind.  He settled towards dawn, allowing Remus to sleep more comfortably, but when he woke again at a late hour, he found Sirius awake and staring up at the canopy of the bed, frowning a little.

"Are you all right?"

Sirius glanced sideways at him.  "Of course."  Remus twitched a brow at him, still not awake enough to be more subtle than that.  "I'm just thinking."

"I could tell."  Remus yawned and turned onto his side to face him.  "What are you thinking about?"

"The last few weeks before James and Lily died."

Any lingering trace of sleep fled.  Remus stared at him.  "Meaning …?"

"Did you think I'd gone over to the Death Eaters?  Before they died, I mean."

It took a while to come up with an answer, but Sirius didn't hurry him.

"I don't know that I did," Remus said finally, uncertain.  "I … was suspicious of your behaviour.  I didn't _want_ to think you'd turned on us, but we weren't really talking much by that point and you were like a will-o'-the-wisp, hardly ever around and mentally somewhere else when you were around.  I saw more of you at the house in Godric's Hollow, talked to you more there, but it felt like there was no substance to what we said to each other."

"I could say the same about you, you know."

Remus wasn't sure what to make of his tone.  "I remember telling you that Dumbledore had me on a lot of missions that I couldn't talk about.  The same was supposedly true of you, but you didn't seem to believe me when I said it and … well, there were things going on in the background that made it all very hard to detangle.  I know _now_ that the stuff Peter told me was meant to make me suspect you, but I didn't then.  All I knew then was that Dumbledore believed someone in our intimate circle had betrayed us and I couldn't talk to any of you for fear of it being used against us all.  Isn't that why you suspected me?"

"But what was it that Peter told you?"

"He built on things I already knew to be true," Remus said quietly.  He didn't want to be explicit, feeling sure Sirius would only become upset again.

"Such as?"

Apparently there would be no protecting him from himself. 

"The rumours of Regulus wanting to leave the Death Eaters," Remus replied.  "After you agreed to be a contact for him if it turned out to be true, nothing more was said on the matter - or not to me anyway.  But a couple of months before the Lily and James went into hiding, Peter told me he'd seen you talking to Regulus.  There was no hint that you actually brought him in and when I asked you about it - " 

He stopped.  Sirius had closed his eyes tightly.  It was a painful memory, for the quarrel that had started, even before the question had been asked, was a bitter one and had only grown more vicious as it progressed.  The worst part, Remus felt, had been the cold-bloodedness of it.  They had both reached a point of anger, and of suspicion of each other, where there had been no heat or violence in the fight, only excruciating words slicing and cutting at each other.  They had continued to share the flat, and even a bed, for seven or eight more weeks, but for all the time they actually spent there in each other's company, or the notice they took of each other, they might as well have moved out completely.

"So he betrayed us both," Sirius said quietly, and there was a curious pain in the statement - which, when Remus examined it, puzzled, was not as obvious as it seemed.

"What do you mean?"

"Me _and_ Regulus."

"Sirius?"

"I did meet Reg once - maybe a week before we did the Fidelius Charm.  I wasn't the person he expected to see, and we … well.  You know."

"You fought with him?"

Sirius shrugged.  "You know what we were like, Moony - it was like mixing oil and water.  He wanted assurances I wasn't prepared to give him.  He wanted us to protect him for nothing in return - no questions, no oaths given.  What the hell did he expect me to say?"

Remus couldn't answer that, but he knew what Dumbledore would have expected Sirius to say.  Regulus could have been brought around later, perhaps; the important thing was to get him away from Voldemort first.  But he knew better than to say that to Sirius, and in any case he knew better than to put all of the blame onto Sirius.  Regulus had never been particularly reasonable either, and it was possible that he deliberately made things more difficult simply because it _was_ Sirius who met him.

Then he made the connections in what Sirius had said.

"So it was Peter he expected to meet.  He knew Peter was a Death Eater, but somehow, perhaps, Peter convinced him that he was working for Dumbledore and could get him out.  But why - oh."  Remus winced.  "Of course.  Peter was using him to throw suspicion onto you with the Order and increase his own standing with Voldemort when he turned Regulus in as a traitor.  Dear God, I had no idea he could be so … machiavellian."

"Yeah, we all fell for that act.  _If_ Voldemort didn't put him up to it, and I'm not convinced he didn't.  A bit too bloody convoluted for Wormtail's tiny rat-brain."

There was a long silence. 

Remus took a slow breath and decided to grab the moment.  "Padfoot, about Regulus …"  he felt Sirius tense slightly beside him but it was too late to stop.  "Shacklebolt told me what happened to him."

He supposed he wasn't so terribly surprised when Sirius ended the conversation by simply getting up and out of bed, reaching for his clothes.

"I'm going to make breakfast.  What do you fancy - I could fancy eggy-toast, what do you think?"

"That'd be nice," Remus replied, accepting the rebuff.  One day, perhaps, Sirius would feel able to talk to him about Regulus and Azkaban, but clearly today was not to be that day.

 **End of Book II**


	3. Book III: Black Manor

**Book III: Black Manor**

 

 **Part 10**

"What do you want to do today?" Remus asked, as they lingered over tea and the remains of the egg-fried toast.

"Sort out where we're going to live," Sirius replied, and Remus blinked a little.

"Well ... that would certainly be helpful, but do you have anything particular in mind?"

"I've been thinking ... thinking and thinking and thinking," Sirius said.  He sounded tired and there was a note of resignation in his voice.  "The fact is, we don't have a lot of options - not if we want to have a safe roof over heads in the long term, and not if Harry's going to live with us.  We've got to have strong wards, somewhere for you on full moons, and preferably not have to pay rent on the place.  Realistically ..."  He grimaced at Remus, but forged ahead bravely.  "Realistically, that means this place or the Manor, unless we can sell one or both of them, and I don't see a chance in hell of that, do you?"

"I believe we agreed that we'd live in a ditch rather than stay here," Remus said mildly, hiding his surprise - once again - at Sirius's unexpected determination to take control of their situation.  "And while you and I might survive the experience, it's certainly too dangerous for Harry to live here while the house is in its current state."

"Yeah.  Which leaves the Manor."

"Which is potentially even more dangerous."  Remus's eyes strayed to the well-warded box containing the remains of the Animated 'creature', which he planned to owl to Professor Dumbledore that morning.

"That's what I've been thinking about."  Sirius sighed.  "Forget about the main part of the house for a minute.  The boundaries are warded even tighter than this place and the garden's huge.  Lots of room for Moony and Padfoot to frisk about in, and I know we didn't have a chance to look yesterday, but there are big, dry cellars under most of the house which could be made secure and comfortable if we have to confine you for any reason.  Plus there's more than enough room to store stuff like your printing press and so on."

Remus leaned his chin on one hand, interested.  "Go on."

Sirius drew a deep breath.  "The kitchen and servants' quarters are in good nick and safe; they could be fixed up fairly easily.  We could secure all the entrances into the main house and ward out my old man's little toys.  And I'd need to take advice on it, but I reckon the garden room and solar could be altered to allow access directly into the kitchens and so on, to give us more room.  Somewhere to sit.  We'd have access out onto the gardens that way, too."

"You'd need to do an inspection of the roof," Remus noted.  "No good doing up even part of the place if the roof isn't sound.  What do you plan to do about the main part of the house in the future?"

"Christ knows.  As long as it doesn't fall down and take our part of the building with it, it can carry on mouldering for the time being.  It's not like I've a hope in hell of being able to afford to fix it up - not without the family gold anyway, always supposing my father didn't gamble it all away before he died.  And what do we need a whole mansion for?"

"We could hold soirées," Remus suggested, and Sirius blew a raspberry at him, breaking into a reluctant grin.

"Uncle Sylvester would love that!  Chances are, the ghosts would be the only ones to turn up anyway." 

"Well, I think it's an idea well worth exploring, if my opinion is worth anything.  Certainly more practical than trying to sort this place out, since the house seems determined to thwart us."

"Could you live with the ghosts, though?" Sirius asked, more soberly.  "Most of them have their own favourite parts of the house and stay there, but Cousin Susannah is a pain in the neck.  No pun intended."

Remus smiled.  "At the end of the day, she's just a ghost and we can always call in the Ministry men if she gets out of hand.  Forgive me, but she's preferable to Kreacher - I'm sorry for him, but that doesn't mean I want to live with him indefinitely."

"You'll be sorry you said that when she's popped out of your underwear drawer a few times," Sirius pointed out, but the corner of his mouth was twitching mischievously.

After breakfast, Remus sent Loki off to Hogwarts with the warded box, and the two of them paid a visit to Andromeda Tonks to ask her opinion of the venture.

Andromeda understandably had mixed feelings when Sirius explained his proposals for the Manor.  She too had unpleasant memories of both Black family homes, a fact which communicated itself to Remus more through her reticence than through anything she actually said.  A tiny, sharp intake of breath when the mechanical creature was mentioned was her most extreme reaction, but her very reserve as they discussed the Manor spoke volumes.

"You should be very sure you can ward the servants' quarters sufficiently before you even consider spending a night there," she warned Sirius as she poured tea for them all.  "Remove any portraits, picture frames and mirrors from the area."

That was an interesting set of things for her to specify, Remus thought, but Sirius didn't seem at all surprised. 

"That's a good idea - I could ward against the portraits, but better safe than sorry and we can make sure the only mirrors are ones we've bought ourselves."  He accepted a cup of tea.  "If we open up doorways into the garden room and solar, and block off their doorways into the main house, we can add a bit of extra room."

"The room at the top of that tower should be safe too," she noted.  "It was Uncle Alphard's room before he left.  You could make a comfortable master bedroom in there."

"That's a good idea.  How difficult do you think it would be, structurally?  Would we need to bring in an expert to move the doors?"

"Not if your Charms-work is up to par."  She considered the matter for a moment or two, stirring her tea thoughtfully.  "If it's a simple matter of moving a door from one side of a room to another, then there are charms that will do it.  I doubt the house itself would resist, as I remember my father telling us that some of the most recent alterations were done by Grandpapa in a single day.  What you _will_ need to be careful of is moving any doors or windows that face into the central courtyard.  I don't know for sure, but there were hints that there might be extra rooms hidden in the void between the wings.  There are certainly hidden rooms somewhere in the house, but I was never told where."

"That's a good point.  I'd forgotten."

"Hidden rooms?" Remus asked, raising a brow.  After Hogwarts, not much in wizard architecture came as a surprise, but it added an extra dimension to the problems the Manor presented.

"Work rooms, I think," Sirius clarified.  "Apart from the unhidden one in the basement, I was never shown them either, but they definitely exist and it makes a certain amount of sense for them to be held in lattice in the courtyard void.  The power needed to make extra space in an area that's already filled would be too expensive."

"Not that expense ever stopped a Black doing something," Andromeda said dryly.

Sirius grinned at her.  "It'll stop me!  I've better things to do with my gold."

"I'm glad to hear it.  I'm not sure that this is the only answer to your problems, but I can quite see that it's the best option at present.  I wouldn't want to stay at Grimmauld Place myself." 

That turned out to be something of an understatement.  Sirius had hoped that she would come to the Manor to view the situation and advise him more directly on the proposed alterations (Andromeda had made a name for herself, in a minor way, as a an interior decorator when she was younger), but she gently but firmly refused.  Likewise, she refused to cross the threshold of Grimmauld Place and became almost agitated when the question of Floo access from the house was raised.  Seeing her discomfort, Remus quickly changed the subject.

Later, when Sirius had gone to bring the bike around to the side of the house in preparation for them leaving, Remus paused to talk to Andromeda.

"How is he, really?" she asked him.  "He seems so much better, but I know Sirius as well as I know the rest of my family.  Things are never quite how they seem with the Blacks."

Remus had been watching her fingers restlessly twisting the little gold charms on her bracelet ever since the Manor and Grimmauld Place had first been mentioned.  He wondered if she was aware that her words could as easily be applied to herself as to her cousin; Sirius was not the only one with issues about family history, it seemed.  But that was hardly surprising.

"He's a lot better than you might think," he replied.  "It was rough at the beginning for a few days, and his sleep is still disturbed sometimes, but I think it helps that he has things to focus on.  It was his suggestion that we move to the Manor, you know.  I only vetoed living at Grimmauld Place - not that it was ever necessary.  I find it dreadfully oppressive myself; I think if Sirius has to spend much longer there, it'll be very bad for his health.  But we didn't have many choices initially."

"I can't imagine any circumstance where I would be prepared to spend even an hour there," Andromeda said, and a few pinched-looking lines appeared around her mouth.

"It does beg the question of what we'll end up doing with it, though.  And there's the house-elf still in residence, mad as a hatter and bitterly malicious."  She shuddered and Remus decided to change the subject.  "Well, at any rate Sirius seems a little easier in himself at the Manor.  Provided we can do as he suggests, and block the rest of the house off while creating a liveable area for ourselves and Harry, we should be fine."

"He's still determined to take guardianship of Harry Potter?"

Remus gave her a curious look.  "Legally, he _is_ Harry's guardian - the aunt and uncle were only a solution when none of Harry's designated guardians were available."

"You won't mind, then?" Andromeda asked.

"I'm the lad's godfather too."

"But is that what's best for the boy, and for the two of you as well?"

"Based on what I know of his aunt, I don't think we can be worse," Remus said wryly.  "Certainly, Harry is more than eager to leave her guardianship.  As for the two of us, it's what we signed up for when we agreed to be his godparents.  Sirius takes the responsibility very much to heart and always has."

Andromeda frowned a little, but apparently decided to let go of whatever thought was bothering her.

Remus thought he knew what she was really concerned about, but he had no intention of getting into a discussion about it with her.  It occurred to him that a remarkable number of people suddenly seemed to be obsessed by what was 'right' for Harry, but the only people who had, at any time in the last twelve years, actually asked Harry what _he_ thought was right for him had been Sirius and himself.  Like Sirius, Remus knew enough of Petunia Dursley to strongly doubt that Harry could be worse off with a werewolf and a former convict, and her own sister had been so far convinced of it that she'd gone out of her way to make other arrangements for her son.  The thought of how distressed Lily would be if she knew how her wishes had been ignored made Remus purse his lips tightly for a moment.

Well, that had been Dumbledore's decision.  Regardless of the protection it had provided for the boy, Remus didn't think it had done him much good otherwise, so now they were going to try something different.

Sirius reappeared, wheeling the bike to the side door where the two of them stood.  He settled it on its side-stand, then looked at them, frowning.  "Something wrong?"

"Not at all," Andromeda told him, and the furrows of concern on her brow melted away to a smile.  "Promise me you'll keep me informed of how you get on with your project.  And if you become _quite_ desperate, you are always welcome here, you know!  Even if it's just for dinner one evening."

"I'll hold you to that," Sirius said, and after a moment they hugged.  Remus noticed that it looked a little awkward, as though the gesture wasn't quite spontaneous for either of them; it wasn't nearly as bad as Harry's stiff surprise when Sirius had hugged him at Hogwarts, but apparently he wasn't the only one who had problems with expressing affection.

 

~~~

 

It was typical of Sirius that once he decided on a course of action, he wanted to get on with it.  The biggest question with converting the kitchen wing of the Manor would be moving doors and sealing entrances into the main house, and Remus had no more idea of the charms needed for this than he did, so after lunch Sirius took himself off to Grimmauld Place's small study/library while Remus made a brief expedition to Flourish and Blotts.

He returned a couple of hours later with two books on interior decoration and modification (both from the library - Remus refused to waste good money on books that might not be of use to them), and found Sirius solemnly peeling potatoes in the kitchen.  Several books were piled at the other end of the table, along with a sheet of parchment full of notes.

"You've been busy," Remus said, setting down his two books and a parcel containing cubed lamb and skewers.  "I thought we might try kebabs tonight, since there's a flame burner on that range.  What do you think?"

"Sounds good to me.  I'll chip these potatoes then.  How did you get on?"

"I've got a couple of possible reference books, but I'll need to read through them tonight.  Did you find anything in the study that might help?"

"Likewise - a couple."  Sirius scowled.  "Typical of my family, though - one of them talks about moving doors and windows but doesn't actually include the charms, and the other one's partly written in another language.  Take a look.  Do you recognise it?  I know a couple of translation spells, but they’re useless unless you know which lingo you're translating from."

Remus picked up the books and examined them.  "Feels like there's an encryption charm on them as well," he remarked.

"There is.  I've cancelled it twice, but it resets itself hourly."

Remus snorted and cancelled it again.  "All right … hm … interesting.  Sirius, I'm not sure but - your family isn't related to the Goldsteins or Rosenbaums, is it?"

"You're joking, right?  _My_ family marrying anyone who isn't strictly Omnis Arcanum?  Don't make me laugh.  Why do you ask?"

"I think this book's written in Ladino, that's all.  It's a Sephardic Jewish dialect ... what?"

Sirius was staring at him as though he'd suddenly started _talking_ in Ladino.  "How the devil do you know something like that?"

Remus smiled at him.  "I do read an awful lot, you know."

"Oh, come off it, Moony!  No one just accidentally comes across something like that in a book!"

"I didn't say it was _accidental_ ," Remus pointed out mischievously, just to see the outraged look on Sirius's face.  He chuckled a little.  "Anyway, I just wondered why a book in Ladino would be in your father's library, that's all.  Not that I think the Goldsteins would own it either, really ... although I did hear a theory once that Jewish wizards and witches are more likely to be Sephardi in origin, but I can't remember the exact reasoning for that."

At a loss, the best Sirius could come up with was, "You're blathering."

"Heaven forbid!  Well, there you go - try your translation charm with Ladino."  Remus stripped off his robe and pushed his sleeves up.  "Shall I make the kebabs?"

Sirius sniffed in a huffy way but made room for him, and for a while they worked together to make dinner.  Once it was cooking on the range, Remus put the kettle on for tea and leaned against the kitchen table for a minute.

"If we're going to move to the Manor, we need to think about the stuff we'll need," he commented.

"Yeah?"

"Beds, for example," Remus elaborated.  "Do you want to take anything from here?"  Sirius made a face.  "Thought not.  And I suppose you won't want to use anything already at the Manor, either.  We'll need to buy then."  He thought about this for a few moments.  "There are a couple of places in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade that do new and second-hand furniture, but experience tells me that the second-hand stuff is usually on its last legs and the new stuff costs a couple of limbs and probably hasn't been made yet anyway.  So … want to check out the Muggle shops?"

"Can they make a decent four-poster bed?" Sirius asked sceptically.

"They can make most things," Remus replied, thinking wryly of some of the oddities he'd seen in the Muggle world over the years, "and quite a lot of things you couldn't even imagine.  But why be so hide-bound?  It doesn't _have_ to be a traditional four-poster bed, does it?  If that's the sum total of your ambition, why not just take the bed from here?"

As he'd thought, Sirius's curiosity was piqued.  "What do you have in mind?"

 

~~~

 

"Now this is something like!" Sirius said enthusiastically, running his hands over the ladder and pulling out drawers.

"I knew this was a mistake," Remus mumbled to himself, grinning, but he wished he had a camera all the same; not so much for Sirius, but for the looks on the faces of the other adults in the shop.  Their children, needless to say, were climbing all over the pirate-themed cabin bed and pointing out the best aspects to the only grown-up in the furniture shop who seemed to be on their mental level.  "Sirius … I hate to point this out, but it doesn't come in king size."

Sirius seemed genuinely bemused by this.  "Why not?" 

"Because it's for children."

"Kids get all the really good stuff.  Still, we could expand it - or put two together!"

"No," Remus told him firmly.

"No, I s'pose not."  Sirius gazed at the bed wistfully.  "Well, let's get one for Harry anyway.  He'll love it."

"Sirius, I hardly think Harry will want a bed shaped like a pirate's bunk.  He's nearly fourteen!"

"So?"

Remus rolled his eyes and grabbed his partner's sleeve, dragging him away from the children's section of the shop.  "So he's at least four years older than you."

He'd forgotten how maddening it could be to buy household goods with Sirius.  Grocery shopping was no problem at all, and while clothes shopping could be mild torture if he was in a peacock mood, that was nothing compared to the never-ending nightmare of trying to make him decide on décor.  Remus himself had been raised in a very careful working class family and his personal circumstances had forced him to embrace extreme frugality.  His requirements for his personal surroundings were, at their most picky, that furniture should be neat and well-made; mostly he had to settle for easily repairable.  Sirius, however, had been raised in circumstances where to want something was sufficient reason for buying it and the cost was never counted.  He also had enough carefully-honed aristocratic taste to demand that things should match, coordinate and not veer into vulgarity; his eye for colour, tone and pattern was distressingly nice.

Furnishing their little flat in Harrow when they were teenagers had driven Remus nearly to screaming point; made worse, of course, by his own limited funds which had made it difficult for him to object to anything Sirius wanted simply because ninety percent of the flat had been paid for by Sirius.  But with Sirius's pureblood tastes came an obliviousness to the meaning of the word 'poverty' or any awareness of the feelings of those obliged by circumstance to live on the charity of others.  One thing Remus had always had was his pride, and although maturity had taught him that self-respect and dignity were not reliant on one's bank balance, he hadn't yet learned that lesson when they first lived together.  The mortification of being, in effect, a kept man had nearly driven him to break with Sirius and return to his parents' house.

It had been James who intervened, of course, although Remus gave sizeable credit for this to Lily (while James wasn't nearly as insensitive as Sirius, he could still be quite oblivious on his own account).  Knocking sense into Sirius's head had always been more effectively achieved by his best friend.  More than that, he had forcefully pressed a loan onto Remus (he knew better than to try to _give_ him the money) so that he could buy any essentials he needed for himself.

Remus grimaced to himself as they wandered around furniture shops and warehouses.  That loan had been on his conscience for years now, but he thought he might finally have enough Galleons put aside to repay it to James's Estate; his final salary slip from Hogwarts would perhaps clear it.  He made a mental note to write to Morag MacDuff, the only one of Harry's trustees that he felt comfortable speaking to about it, and set the matter aside.

"Seen anything you like?" he asked Sirius.

Sirius had his hands dug into his jeans pockets and was surveying an array of rather boring sofas with a familiar look of disdain. 

"Who'd want to sit on this stuff?" he asked.  "I mean, look at it!  I don't even know what kind of cloth it's covered in!"  He nudged one overstuffed couch with his knee; it was a nondescript purple colour and superficially looked to be upholstered in velvet, but Remus knew better.

"They make and use a lot of synthetic materials," he said.  "You won't find elf-woven alpaca in these shops.  Look, don't fret about it - we only came out to get some ideas, didn't we?  Maybe we should leave it now and concentrate on modifying the rooms instead."

Sirius agreed to this and they headed back to Grimmauld Place. 

None of the four books they had found provided all of the answers to the charms they would need for modifying the servants' quarters at the Manor, but between the two of them they patched together enough information to have a pretty good idea how it could be done.  Which wasn't to say that Remus didn't feel a little nervous as they headed to the drawing room to practice, but it was better to find out straight away if the charms worked or not.  The drawing room was a good place to try moving a door, as it had two entrances and a long blank wall facing out onto the passage.

"From the sound of things, your grandfather made it look incredibly easy," Remus remarked, as they examined the two doors.  "I'm guessing it isn't."

"Not without practice anyway," Sirius agreed.  He surveyed the long wall of the drawing room, wrinkling his nose at the ugly spindly little tables and chairs pushed against it.  "Let's move some of this raffle …"

They cleared a long stretch of wall, then Sirius measured the height and width of the doorway, including the lintels, and made corresponding marks in chalk further along the wall.

"All right, are you ready for this?"

Remus nodded and stepped back.  They had agreed that it should be Sirius who did this, mostly because they couldn't be sure how the household wards would react if someone not of the family tried it.  It was a little disappointing, for Remus liked playing with new charms as much as anyone, but he accepted the practical necessity.

Sirius traced around the doorframe with his wand, taking his time, then traced exactly the same shape over the chalk marks on the wall.  Then, taking a deep breath, he took a step back and brought his wand down in a curving arc.  _"Moto!"_

There was a pause, and Remus found that he was holding his breath. 

With a peculiar soft grinding sound, the door slowly began to fade away, gradually being replaced by a smooth section of wall until there was no sign it had ever existed there.  Then there was silence.  The two men stared at the wall.

"I think we banished the door completely," Remus said finally.

"It's generous of you to say "we"," Sirius said, sounding amused, but his eyes were flicking over the wall and his mind was almost audibly racing.  "Damn.  How could it just vanish?  That wasn't anything like a banishing charm - "

He was interrupted by a loud sucking noise … and the door began to fade back into existence, now in the spot where Sirius had marked the wall with the chalk.  It took a couple of minutes to reappear completely, and when it did Remus noticed something - the doorknob was in entirely the wrong place.

"Is - is it upside down?" he asked, with a quiver of amusement in his voice.

"Oh, for the love of Merlin - !"

It took most of the afternoon for Sirius to perfect the charm, and that was just moving the door along the wall.  The real test would be moving a door from one wall to another.

"How do you want to do that?" Remus asked over dinner.

"Move it from the drawing room down to the dining room wall, I think.  I know it's a bit risky moving it from one floor to another, but the theory is sound enough - it shouldn't make a difference."

"I can remember a time when you wouldn't even have considered it a risk," Remus said unthinkingly.  Then he wished he hadn't said it, because Sirius didn't need another reminder of where his risk-taking had led him in the past.

But he accepted the remark with a wry shrug.  "Yeah, well I'm not as game to court disaster these days.  Especially as this is going to be used in a place we intend to live in."

For split second Remus wondered if this was going to work out.  In his more honest moments he couldn't quite get his mind around the idea of living at the Manor, even though he had accepted it in theory.  As with so much of his life, the present was almost painfully real in its details but the future seemed peculiarly woolly and difficult to assimilate.  But he supposed a place like Black Manor would of necessity seem a little unreal to someone like him; the name alone rather precluded warm and cosy ideas of 'home'.

And if it felt that way to him, how would it feel to Harry, who had been raised (if that was the word) in Muggle suburbia with no notion of his own privileged background?  Were they right to take the boy to live somewhere like the Manor, with its turgid history and booby-trapped halls, or was Andromeda Tonks right in her unspoken reservations?

"You're thinking again," Sirius warned him.

"You're right, it's very bad habit of mine," Remus agreed.

"Give you a Knut for them."

"Not worth a Knut.  I was just wondering what Harry will make of the Manor.  It's not exactly a snug little thatched cottage with a kitchen garden full of gnomes and an owl roost in the attic, is it?"

Sirius gave him an odd look.  "Is that your ideal home, then?"

Remus snorted, amused by the idea.  "Not really - thatches have their own problems, and the gnomes would drive me mad in no time at all!  It's just that the Manor is a far cry from what he's used to."

"He'll love it," Sirius said, with such conviction that Remus blinked at him.  "Come on, Moony!  Think about it - a whopping great deserted house, full of ghosts and hidden rooms and creepy-crawly _things_ , plus a huge overgrown garden with trees and a stream and Merlin knows what else?  What else does a teenaged boy need?  Except for a few dirty mags and a really good broom, of course."

Put like that, Remus could see his point.

"I still think he'd like that pirate bed, though," Sirius added.

Remus laughed and let the subject drop.

 

~~~

 

In the event Sirius was proved correct, and the door shifted to the dining room wall downstairs without much fuss.  It appeared that patience was the key; it took a minute or two longer to reappear on the lower wall than it had upstairs, but apart from that it was in the right position and there was no evidence of any structural problems as a result of the transfer.  Satisfied with this, Sirius returned it to its rightful place on the drawing room wall and they made plans to return to the Manor the following morning.

One question occurred to Remus.  "What are we going to do about Kreacher when we move out?"

The house-elf had been on the fringe of everything they'd done that day, not actually interfering but commenting and muttering and disappearing at intervals, only to reappear, scowling and shuffling and making it plain that he didn't like them interfering with the household arrangements.  Remus had initially wondered where he went when he disappeared; but while he waited beside the dining room wall for the door to transfer he'd heard the elf muttering in the hallway.  It seemed that Kreacher was talking to Mrs. Black's portrait.

"I'm not taking him with us," Sirius said flatly.

"Oh no!  But should we really leave him here?  It hasn't done him much good up to now."

"I daren't give him clothes.  If the shock didn't kill him, having nowhere to go would."

"True … all the same, what do people do in these situations?  What happens when a house-elf gets too old to work?"

"You must have noticed the 'ornaments' on the stairs," Sirius said dryly.

Remus grimaced.  "I _did_ but I didn't want to think about how they got there."

"Standard cure for old age in a house-elf," Sirius said.  "Chop its head off and find a replacement elf."

"No!  Absolutely _not_.  We are not going to - to euthanise the poor old thing just because he's old and insane and objectionable.  If you applied that criteria to people, you'd have to off half of the Wizengamot."

"Which wouldn't be such a bad idea when you think about it," Sirius pointed out with a grin.  "I didn't suggest that we actually do it, you prat!  Not that he doesn't deserve it - and don't look at me like that, you've only known him when he's old and 'round the twist.  You didn't know him when he was sane and deliberately vicious."

"That may be so," Remus said firmly, "but it's no excuse for treating him badly now."

"What do you want me to say?  We're not taking him to the Manor with us - not that he'd be at all happy to go if we wanted to take him, since he's always lived here and looked after this place.  And there's no such thing as a home for retired house-elves.  It might be the kindest thing we can do _is_ leave him here."

Remus had to admit that he had a point, but there was an element to this that he didn't like, in the same way that he didn't like the way people dealt with the 'werewolf problem'.  It was nothing to do with Sirius's attitude toward Kreacher, although Remus supposed there was a connection - the general laissez-faire attitude of the magical community towards house-elf welfare, just as they didn't give a damn about werewolves or many other groups on the edge of magical society, and which was taken to a fine art by the highest social circles.  House-elves weren't human and they certainly weren't wizards, no matter what magic they had, and therefore along with Muggles, Muggleborns, goblins, centaurs, werewolves and people of mixed blood, their fate ultimately didn't matter.

"There should be a better way of dealing with him," he muttered, rubbing his face fretfully.

It said a great deal about Sirius, and about the humanising effect his friends had had on him over the years, that his response to this was: "We'll think about it and see if we can come up with something, okay?"  Because whether he meant it or not, it meant a great deal to Remus that he had at least _said_ it.

"Yes, of course," he said, making an effort to cheer up a little.  "Changing the subject, Padfoot - it's the full moon in a few days."

"I know.  We'll cut loose in the Manor grounds, what do you think?"

Remus was surprised to find that he almost looked forward to it - as much as he ever looked forward to the change, at any rate.  There was no denying that he'd done himself a lot less damage back in the days when he'd been able to run freely.  "So long as we have something verging on human quarters to recover in.  Do you think we can manage that?"

"We'll find out tomorrow," Sirius said.

 

~~~

 

Remus would have been surprised had he known just much the alterations to the Manor were on Sirius's mind.

He was quite determined to get out of Grimmauld Place and had rapidly reached the point where he was ceasing to consider the cost of it.  Had anyone asked him when he was first released if he would willingly return to Black Manor to live, he would have vehemently denied it.  Yet the truth was that Sirius's incarceration in Azkaban had left him with a lot of skewed memories.  Much of the misery of his childhood had in fact been perpetrated at the town house, but he had forgotten that until they visited the Manor and he began to recall somewhat happier memories of the place.  None of it was unqualified joy, of course, but the Manor at least had offered scope for escape from the suffocating presence of his relatives, something which had been nearly impossible at Grimmauld Place.  At Grimmauld Place everyone had inevitably known each other's business; at the Manor, by contrast, it had sometimes been possible to avoid certain family members for days at a time.  And the house and gardens had offered many possibilities to an energetic and enterprising teenager.  Sirius hadn't lied when he spoke of a boy like Harry finding plenty to occupy him there.

Nevertheless, it was necessary to make at least part of the decayed building a secure home for three people, and despite everything Sirius knew that this wouldn't be easy.  He hadn't entirely anticipated his father's little 'creations' running loose, for one thing, and he hadn't expected the house to be in such bad shape generally.  He knew that it was quite possible to shut up even sizeable houses like the Manor with charms for long periods without them suffering any ill-effects at all - indeed, the nature of the social 'seasons' in the wizarding world, where those who could spent the colder months 'in town', meant that successfully closing the big house for several months was a necessity.  Sirius recalled one summer before he went to Hogwarts, when the entire family had returned to the Manor and he, Regulus and his cousins had been thoroughly entertained to discover that his grandfather's charms had worked well enough that year to hold every chronological device in the house in stasis at exactly the same time and date as they'd left it.

From the look of things, no such orderly retreat to the town house had occurred on the final occasion of his parents leaving the Manor.  But as he knew nothing of what had occurred, other than Andromeda's sketchy account of them retiring to Grimmauld Place because of his father's ill-health, it was pointless to speculate on what had caused his mother to have such a lapse in her usually stringent household arrangements.

Instead, Sirius spent the night before their next visit to the Manor worrying about the moving of doors and furnishing of rooms, and was restless as a result.  And needless to say, that meant Remus spent a restless night too.

"We can put it off for a day," he volunteered, when they both sagged over their morning tea and toast, but Sirius refused this offer.  He thought it would only lead to more sleeplessness.

"Remind me to buy some kippers on the way home," was all he would say, regarding his toast with revulsion for once.

This time they were able to Apparate to the Manor.  It was raining when they arrived, which didn't improve the gloomy ambiance of the place, but Sirius gritted his teeth and opened up the kitchen door to let them both in.  Remus had armed himself with an old picnic basket unearthed from the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, which he loaded up with tea, milk, mugs and a selection of sandwiches and cakes - "No need to be completely miserable while we work" he'd said, and while Sirius was inclined to feel that nothing would cheer things up there, the thought of being able to have a decent cup of tea did make it all a bit more bearable. They left the basket on the kitchen table and set about examining all the various walls between the kitchen and the rest of the house.

"The problem I see," Sirius commented at length, when they stopped for their first cup of tea, "is that the kitchen is at a slightly lower level than the Garden Room, so if we put a door in on that wall there -" he waved a hand at the opposite wall, "we'll have to create a couple of steps up.  Probably not a big deal.  What do you think?"

"Might be easier if we have a couple of slabs of stone about the right size ready," Remus suggested.

"That's what I was thinking.  There must be some biggish stones in the garden that we could Transfigure into the right shape and size."

"How about I sort that out while you move the door?"

"You're on."  Sirius continued sipping his tea thoughtfully.

"What do you want to do with the bedrooms?" Remus asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, there are there are three rooms up there, one big bedroom, a box-room and a poky little bathroom that has no business owning the name.  I assume the bedroom was shared, along with the bathroom facilities?"

"I expect so.  It's big enough that I should think anything up to four servants slept there."  Sirius considered this.  "We need to go to the top of the tower and look at Uncle Alphard's room.  If it's any good, do you fancy putting the master bedroom there?"

"Depends.  Not if I have to walk half a mile to the bathroom in the morning."

Sirius grinned a little.  "Agreed, but we could put a bathroom where the Ladies' Solar is.  That would make more sense in the tower and you'd only have to go down a few stairs to it."

"We could keep the other bathroom though," Remus suggested.  "Improve it, of course, and let Harry use it as an en-suite."

"That's a good idea.  He'll be fourteen in July - boys that age like a bit of privacy, and it'll save any arguments over people hogging the bathroom."

"You and your brother must have fought like kneazles at Grimmauld Place," Remus commented.  There was a shared bathroom on the floor with Sirius and Regulus's rooms.

"Don't remind me."  Sirius changed the subject.  "Okay, what about the bedroom and box-room?  I should think we could combine the bathroom and box-room to make more space."

"Ye-e-e-s … the box-room's a fair size though.  You could use part of it to enlarge the bathroom, then use the rest of the space combined with the bedroom to make at least two bedrooms.  Three, if you ask me, and there'd still be plenty of room."

"Yeah, yeah … we'll look at it later, though.  I'm just going to concentrate on one thing at a time right now."

"Good idea," Remus agreed.  He sighed and set down his empty cup.  "I hate to ruin the mood, but we need to think about somewhere to sleep after the full moon.  Doesn't need to be fancy, just reasonably warm and comfortable."

"Once we've altered the Garden Room, we can set it up with some bedding and heating charms," Sirius suggested.  "Will that do?  We still don't have a proper bed, but - "

"A mattress, pillows and blankets will do nicely," Remus said graciously.  "Luxury compared to the crypt, in fact."

Sirius shuddered.  "I'm game for a lot of things, but a crypt …!"

"Needs must and all that."

"I suppose."  He let it go, and put his mug down.  "Come on, let's get the Garden Room sorted out."

With the door moved and the steps in place things began to look a little more positive.  It was a yawningly empty space with no furniture in it, and it needed a lick or two of paint before they even thought about furnishings for that matter, but Remus could see possibilities in it.  Sirius had other things on his mind though.

"Do we really need the extra staircase, if we're shifting everything so it's accessible from this side?"

"Might be useful to have a second access on that side," Remus said noncommittally.

"It's taking up space and it's another entrance point to ward," Sirius pointed out.

"True.  Do you want to block it up or what?"

"Do you think it could be moved?"

Remus rubbed his neck, gazing at his partner half-amused and half in consternation.  "I don't think that'd be quite like moving a door, Pads."

"Yeah, you're probably right."  Sirius stared at the little doorway in the corner of the room.  "More research, then, because off-hand I don't know any spells for blocking up doors and staircases, and in any case we want to reclaim the floor-space if we can."

"You want to look at moving or adding plumbing as well, if you're planning to put a bathroom in upstairs."

"It's a bloody good thing we're only fixing up this wing," Sirius grumbled.  "Can you imagine what it'd be like if we tried to do the whole bloody house?"

The next stop was his Uncle Alphard's room at the top of the tower.  They hadn't gone that far up during their first visit, and it was here that Sirius's plans met an unexpected hitch.

The room itself had been stripped - "Probably on my mother's orders," Sirius remarked - leaving nothing but a bedstead and old-fashioned armoire that were riddled with woodworm.  There were windows on either side of the room and Remus crossed the dusty hardwood floor to throw open the windows and shutters and look out over the inner courtyard of the house.

"Interesting view," he commented, wrestling with the latch of the second set of shutters.  The room was stuffy and needed air.  "The greenery seems to have gone wild down there - "

"Don't."

He stopped and looked over his shoulder, surprised, and was alarmed to see Sirius rooted to the spot in the middle of the room.  He was white-faced and sweating.  "Padfoot?"

"Don't, just … can you …"  Sirius breathed deeply for a few seconds, closing his eyes.  "Come away from the windows, Moony - please."

"Of course."  Remus joined him in the middle of the room, taking his hand cautiously.  "Hey - Padfoot?  What is it?"

"I'm not going to be able to sleep in this room.  I'm sorry."

"Not a problem," Remus said at once, although he was confused and alarmed by Sirius's reaction.  "What is it - can you tell me?"

"I …"  Sirius stopped, his jaw clenching.  "I can't be up here."

He didn't exactly run, but his retreat down the stairs was hurried and he didn't relax until they were back in the kitchen.  Remus, deeply concerned and not knowing what else to do, made more tea.

"It's fine," he told Sirius.  "We'll close that room up and ward it."

"No … no.  I think …"  Sirius struggled with the problem for a moment.  "It might be okay if I move the windows.  The ones over the - the atrium.  Move them so they're not looking over it."

'Atrium' was entirely the wrong word and they both knew it, but Sirius physically couldn't say 'courtyard', leaving Remus to stare at him in perplexity and wonder what in the world had triggered the problem.  Some memory from Azkaban?

"All right," he said, as calmly as he could.  "Let's try that.  But don't worry about it if it doesn't work, it's not like we don't have plenty of room in the servants' quarters anyway."

So when they finished their tea (and Sirius seemed calmer) they went back upstairs. 

It didn't take a genius to see just how traumatic this was for Sirius.  The effort it took for him to approach the inner windows and mark them off for the moving charm was painful to watch; he sweated and visibly shook and Remus knew, even before he successfully moved the windows a couple of feet around the wall, that they weren't going to be able to use this room as the master bedroom.  True, Sirius relaxed once the view out of the window was an unexceptional expanse of clay tiles, but he still wasn't wholly at ease.

Remus looked around the room indecisively.  Having got this far, it seemed a shame that they wouldn't be able to use it somehow, especially as having the second bathroom on the floor below would useful.  Perhaps it could be used for storage, although that seemed a great pity.

"We'll need to get rid of this furniture," he commented.  "There's no cure for woodworm this bad."  He examined the great bedstead and noticed something about the panelled wall behind it.  Stepping back to take a second look at the room, he saw that it was very flat and straight.  "This room isn't completely round … is there some sort of small room _behind_ it?"

"Probably a storage space for luggage," Sirius said, unsurprised.  He felt around the panelling until his probing fingers found a small latch; a little door swung open and a thick hank of cobweb flopped out onto the bare floor.

" _Lumos_ ," Remus said and he poked his wand inside.  The storage space was quite small and very empty of anything but spiders, but he could see how it would be useful to the occupant of the bedroom.  "Room for a couple of trunks - handy."

"Or a body," Sirius added, with something approaching his usual humour.

"I hope we _don't_ find any bodies," Remus said rather emphatically, though he was amused.  "It'd be dreadfully difficult to explain to the authorities.  Pads, what do you want to do with this room?  It's a nice size - shame not to use it somehow."

"I'm sorry … I won't sleep in here.  I just - "

Remus hastily soothed him.  "It's all right, I told you - we can make our room in the servants' quarters.  It’s just that there's no point in messing about up here if we're not going to use it."

Sirius grimaced.  "I don't know.  Maybe … maybe Harry would like it."

"That's a thought.  If we can sort out a bathroom below."

He left it at that, only reiterating that they needed to dispose of the furniture.  Sirius suggested chopping it up for fuel for the kitchen range, which was as good an idea as any, and they went back downstairs to discuss changes to the servants' quarters in more detail.

 

~~~

 

Putting the renovations into place at the Manor took weeks of solid effort and was just as much hard work as the futile clean-up attempts at Grimmauld Place, but fortunately with much better results.  The moving of doors, windows and walls was the least of their labours.  Putting in the second bathroom meant bringing in a wizard plumber, which took three weeks of owling, four attempts at getting a quote (the plumbers in question suddenly discovering that their books were full as soon as they realised who they were dealing with), and the eventual intervention of Andromeda with a friend of hers (which, Remus strongly suspected, involved some unsubtle strong-arming mixed with a judicious amount of cajolery).  The work wasn't cheap and the wizard plumber turned out to be a witch who did excellent work but behaved as though her two newest customers were a pair of unchained manticores.

Once all the rooms were in their final configurations, it was necessary to perform any repairs and decorate.  Neither of them was much of a decorator, Sirius even less so than Remus of course, which meant that painting, papering, tiling and carpeting took a lot longer than either of them had anticipated.  Nor was this helped by occasional setbacks.  The space directly above the new bedrooms in the servants' wing was a very low-ceilinged room with tiny high windows on one side and an odd arrangement of railings overlooking the passage and stairs below on the other; this had originally been the living and sleeping space for the house-elves.  Not having much use for it, Sirius and Remus concluded that it was better to clean it up a little and reserve it for storage.  The space was deceptive however; its out-of-the-way position made Sirius forget that there was attic space above it which they would have done well to examine sooner rather than later.  The attic in this wing was in fact largely empty of anything but dust and spiders, but a late spring storm exposed a weakness in the roof there and they arrived at the Manor one morning to find water everywhere.

So the first major repair involved going up on the roof to assess the damage and put it right, followed by drying everything out and repairing the water damage to newly decorated rooms.  And then they had to start again.

"Look at it this way," Sirius said, after a particularly frustrating day where they had to remove all the newly-laid tiles in the main bathroom and replace them after the water had seeped in behind them.  "We haven't murdered each other yet.  All things considered, I think that's something."

Remus privately thought that it had been a close-run thing once or twice, but Sirius did have a point.  They'd had a particularly vigorous spat earlier over Cousin Susannah, who was making their labours even more trying for them by popping up and screaming at tricky moments.  The tiling took twice as long as necessary because of her, and Remus had never been so grateful for the _Reparo_ charm.  There wasn't a single ceramic tile that hadn't been broken at least once because of the ghost.  He was opposed to calling in the exorcists, however; it was irrational, he supposed, but too many people would be happy to see _him_ exterminated for no good reason for him not to feel a certain reluctance to condemn Cousin Susannah out of hand.  Sirius disagreed, saying that as she was already dead all they would be doing was sending her on to her proper rest.  He had a point there, too, but it wasn't one Remus could agree with and frayed tempers had finally snapped.

On the plus side, both the quarrel and the more enjoyable make-up sex afterwards had worked off quite a lot of his pre-full moon energy and jitters, which could never be a bad thing.  But the full moons were easier at the Manor anyway, despite having to sleep on a mattress on the floor the following day due to a continuing lack of furniture.

Remus awoke on this particular occasion with his usual jumble of disorientated thoughts.  He never remembered where he was at first, and finding himself on a mattress on the floor meant frightened assumptions that he was back at the Shrieking Shack during his school days or - worse - in one of the many horrible places he'd been forced to sequester himself over the years.  Light was forcing its way around the makeshift curtains of the Garden Room and the insidious smell of fresh paint reached even his dull post-moon nose; there was a taste in his mouth that he couldn't quite identify and a noise in his ears that, unfortunately, he _could_ identify.  He wanted to groan as his brain sorted itself out and proclaimed prior knowledge of the source of the sound.  This wasn't his worst post-moon wake-up by a long shot, but he still ached all over and had an all-too-familiar sticky itch that suggested he badly needed a bath.  He tried to lift an elbow to stop the annoying sound but found he didn't quite have the strength.

"Sirius," he mumbled.  No response.  "SIRIUS!"

The annoying noise stopped with an unmusical grunt.  "Wha'?"

"Stop snoring."

"Hm?"

"Git," Remus said affectionately.  He licked his lips, swallowed and grimaced.  "Merlin.  What did we eat last night?"

The voice that issued from the depths of their shared blankets was very smug.  "Rabbits."

Of course.  Remus never remembered anything of the change when he was off the Wolfsbane Potion, but Sirius had told him the previous month that Padfoot and Moony had discovered a large rabbit warren in the Manor grounds.  But rabbits, plural?  Well, that explained the unusual lack of hunger, but he hoped he hadn't eaten too many bones.  Werewolf digestion was pretty efficient, but he hadn't forgotten the couple of times as a teenager when he'd overindulged during a brisk night in the Forbidden Forest.  The indigestion wasn't pleasant, although now that he came to think of it that had been wood pigeons.

"Do you think one of the bathrooms is useable?"

"Why?"

He rolled his eyes.  "Because I need to use it!" 

Besides, he really did need a bath or a shower.  Last month they'd had to wash in the scullery, heating water in the big copper and using an old tin bath.  Given a choice, Remus preferred a few creature comforts.

Sirius dragged himself out of the blankets, looking bleary-eyed and - unsurprisingly - rather grimy - and groaned, sitting up and rubbing his face.  His hair had grown back almost to shoulder-length again and was a tangled bird's nest with bits of leaf and twig still caught in it from the night before.

"You could do with a bath too," Remus told him.

"That'd be great if I could just transport it down here somehow," Sirius said, his voice thick with sleep.  Then he yawned hugely.  "Come on then."

Remus wished he could still take the Wolfsbane Potion.  It wouldn't make much difference to his weakness the day after the change, the change itself being too violent and damaging to the body, but he hated being dependent on poor old Sirius who never looked in much better condition himself that day after the moon.  As they made their slow way up the stairs, he reminded himself that he was painfully grateful for Sirius's help now.  There had been more than a few changes over the years where he hadn't been in any fit state afterwards to take care of himself at all, and that particular humiliation had been bad enough when he lived and sequestered himself alone.  One of the many reasons for loathing the Ministry facilities was the very public suffering the following day; they would all be crammed two and three to a cage, naked, and the staff would simply hose them and the cages with cold water through the bars.  There was no food or kindness or treatment of injuries, not even basic washing facilities.  You came around, got hosed down, pulled on your clothes and left as best you could.

Cousin Susannah's ability to destroy tiles relied entirely on her frightening a living person into doing it for her; that being the case, the newly-fitted bathroom in the former servants' quarters was clean and gleaming and still intact when Sirius got them both there.  He helped Remus to take care of certain necessary business, then ran the water in their nice new tub.  It was big enough for both of them and might, Remus decided, almost have been specifically designed for moments like this when they needed to share the water.  With Sirius sitting behind him to make sure he didn't accidentally drown, Remus felt able to relax and close his eyes for a while, his muscle cramps easing under the influence of hot, herb-scented water.  Sirius was gently rubbing a sponge over his neck, shoulders and chest, and sponging his hair clean ... it was bliss ...

" _You_ can get lost!"

Remus dragged heavy eyelids open, startled.  "What?"

Sirius squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.  "Nothing mate.  Just someone being nosy - as usual."

A tiny sniffling sound followed by a hiccupping sob gave him the clue and he let his eyes close again.  He really couldn't be bothered with something so trivial.  "She sounds like Moaning Myrtle," he murmured.  "How old was she when she died?"

"Fifteen or thereabouts.  Don't worry, she's gone again.  She can't bear not to know what's going on, that's all."

"Rather precociously prurient as well, it seems ..."

"Leave the long words out of it until you're feeling more yourself," Sirius said, amused.

"I'd rather feel more of you," Remus commented, very contented.

"Give it twenty-four hours," Sirius told him, and he brushed a kiss behind Remus's right ear.

They soaked for a while.  Finally, when they were both reaching the advanced prune stage, Sirius reluctantly got them both out of the tub, helped Remus to dry and dress himself in a fleecy robe, and returned him to their makeshift bed downstairs.

"We need to get furniture next," Remus said, as he settled back onto the mattress and pillows and tried to ease his back.  "This is a very interesting perspective, but a little hard on the joints."

"Yes, but where do we get the furniture from?" Sirius reminded him.  He looked hopeful.  "We could still go back and get that pirate bed."

Remus laughed weakly.  "Padfoot, no ...!  You're more of a highwayman than a pirate, love."

"Aha!  Now we come to the truth - you just want to see me in a mask and cloak with a pistol in each hand!"

"Remind me to dig out that Adam and the Ants single sometime."

Sirius's face lit up.  "Tonight!"

"All right then.  In the meantime, I'll try to think up some more places to look for beds and whatnot, while I'm lounging around here like an invalid."

"I'll make some breakfast."  Sirius got to his feet.

"You should rest too."

"I will when we've had some grub.  Want me to make you one of those disgusting liver and bacon sandwiches you like?"

Remus's mouth watered, in spite of him having eaten an unspecified number of freshly-caught rabbits only hours before.  "You're a prince among men ..."

"Well I know _that_ ," Sirius said, and he threw a cheeky grin over his shoulder as he strolled off to the kitchen.

That grin, coupled with the familiar grace of movement and the shadowy light in the still-curtained room, was almost painfully reminiscent of the teenager he had once been and it gave Remus an odd little flutter in his stomach to see it.  Bit by bit Sirius was clawing back some of the lost years, losing the haggard lines in his face and the stiffness in his posture and body language.  It was just a pity, Remus thought bitterly, that he was stuck with someone who was crippled up for days every month and ageing rapidly as a consequence.

Then he cautiously stretched out his legs a little, to ease a kink in his calf muscles, and was mildly surprised by the lack of pain he encountered.  He flexed one knee gingerly, then the other; decided to try the same with his arms.  There was some pain, but really very little compared to some full moons he'd endured as little as a year ago.  Mostly he was just very stiff.

 _Eh,_ he thought, taken aback.  _How about that?  Let's hold off on the self-pity a while longer, shall we, old man, until we're sure about that 'rapidly ageing cripple' stuff._

 

~~~

 

Breakfast, followed by one of the excellent massages Sirius insisted on giving him and another hour or so of napping, meant Remus felt ready to face the world again, albeit slowly.  He felt infinitely better after this change than he had in a long time; not quite ready to help Sirius work on the second bathroom yet, but strong enough to putter around outside a little, planning what he would do with the greenhouses when they finally moved to the Manor properly.

Halfway through the afternoon he went back to the kitchen to make tea.  It was then that Cousin Susannah, frustrated by Sirius's refusal to jump at her appearance and break more tiles in the bathroom, decided to try her luck with a (temporarily) softer target.  She popped up behind Remus as he was warming the teapot and shrieked in his ear, making him drop it with a tremendous crash on the flagstones.

It took him a moment to catch his breath and settle his jangling nerves - and also to remind himself pretty sharply that hexing her was pointless and she couldn't, after all, be anything other than true to her ghostly nature.  He didn't _really_ want to call the exorcists at all.

"Now look what you've made me do," he said eventually, in the mildest professor voice he could manage.  She was still lurking up near the ceiling amid the copper pans and ladles, tittering in satisfaction.  "That was really very silly of you, Cousin Susannah, wasn't it?  Rather childish and pointless."

There was a loud _crack!_ and Sirius Apparated into the kitchen, wand at the ready.  "Are you all right?  I heard something break!"

"I'm fine, Padfoot."  Remus deliberately turned his back on the ghost.  "I'm afraid the same can't be said for the teapot though."  He pointed his wand and cast a _reparo_ , but his hand was still shaking a little and the pot repaired itself only very sketchily, with cracks visible in the glaze, the spout on upside down, and the pattern of green snakes well and truly crazed.

"What happened?"

"I believe Cousin Susannah has an itch in her ectoplasm," Remus said dryly.

"No cousin of thine, beast!" she said, piqued.

"She'll have an exorcist's wand up her farthingale when I've finished with her," Sirius said, eyeing her grimly.

"You see?" Remus said, addressing himself to the pouting ghost.  "You really should be trying to stay on my good side.  I'm the one telling Sirius _not_ to call the exorcists, but if you keep making me break things I might just change my mind."

She tossed her head and drifted away through the kitchen wall with something very close to a flounce.

"It might be an idea to bring the exorcists in anyway," Sirius told Remus.  "So far it's only been Cousin Susannah - "

"Only!"

"Yeah, well there was a hell of a racket in the drains earlier which had me a bit worried until I realised what it was."  He paused for a beat.  "It was Uncle Orpheus singing, but he's _supposed_ to be confined to the library."

Remus had been trying to straighten the spout on the teapot, but he laughed and the spell went awry again.  The spout stayed where it was, and the handle dropped off instead.  "Oh, bugger it!  Padfoot, your uncle is welcome to sing in the drains, as long as he doesn't yodel through the plughole when I'm trying to make tea."

"There are no guarantees."  Sirius looked at the teapot and grinned.  "Give it up, mate, the teapot's dead."

"Long live the teapot," Remus agreed, resigned.  "This presents us with a little problem, you realise.  No teapot means no tea."

"Tragic!  Let's have coffee."

"Because that worked so well for you the last couple of times you had it!"  Remus sighed and looked around the kitchen for inspiration.  "I don't understand why there's so little china and crockery in here.  Surely your family owned more than one set?"

"At least two as I remember."  Sirius shrugged.  "Don't look at me, mate, I don't know where it is.  The set at Grimmauld Place is the one that was always kept there.  I suppose it could be stored in the attics somewhere."

A startling thought suggested itself to Remus.  "Sirius ... is it possible that your parents were short of money?  Maybe your mother _sold_ it.  There's no silver or glasswear here either."

Sirius blinked.  "It's possible," he admitted after a moment.  "My old man had a gambling habit and at least one mistress.  But I don't see how it could have got that bad so quickly.  He wasn't under the hatches when I left home, and in any case there are all sorts of assets he could have liquidated first - it'd have to be pretty bloody bad for them to sell the china!  And once Dad died, my mother would have got her widow's portion from the main estate.  She shouldn't have needed to sell anything."

"Of course.  Sorry, love, I'm thinking small-scale finances, not the kind of assets a First Family would have to play with."

"Hey, it's not completely impossible.  Snape's old man managed to bankrupt his family within five years of inheriting."

"Well, that's neither here nor there," Remus said hastily, not wanting to get into a conversation about Severus Snape.  "However it came about, we lack a teapot and sundry other china - unless you want to use the set from Grimmauld Place."

Sirius expressed his opinion of the Grimmauld Place china in a few carefully chosen words.

"Quite so," Remus said amused.  "We need to buy a new set in that case, as well as furniture and soft furnishings.  I suspect we may need to be a little more intrepid in our choice of shops, Mr. Padfoot."

"And where do you have in mind, Mr. Moony?"

"Somewhere Swedish," Remus said, and he hid a smile at Sirius's quizzical look.

 

~~~

 

In retrospect, Remus realised that he should have guessed Ikea would not be Sirius's kind of store, no matter how fascinating he generally found Muggle culture.  The trip was derailed from the outset by some bad planning on their part which led to them arriving at the huge, warehouse-like premises at the busiest part of a Saturday morning.  Sirius was getting better at handling crowds, and he handled Muggle crowds (who were of course oblivious to his notoriety) better than the rubberneckers of Diagon Alley, but that didn't make it much easier for him.  Getting trapped amid noisy groups of people in a strange place made him panic, and _everything_ about Ikea was strange, even to Remus - the noise, the smells, the colours and shapes of the goods, and even the basic layout of the store.

That said, Remus was fairly sure that the layout of the store was unfamiliar even to the other shoppers, to judge by the way they milled around, talked in perplexed tones and discreetly tried to latch on to anyone who looked like they might know where they were going.  This seemed particularly odd to him as there was a distinct sense of the customer being herded towards a specific destination in the way things were arranged.

This was not like peacefully ambling through the other furniture shops they'd visited, accompanied by low-pitched bland music playing in the background, and only occasionally encountering other ambling people who might - if they were feeling particularly frisky - be sitting on the chairs and sofas or lying contemplatively on the beds.  Ikea had the same tense atmosphere of expectation as an auction house a few hours before the bidding began, only the auction never happened and people continued to roam, muttering to each other, poking things and making copious notes in their copies of the catalogue.  There were no children in evidence.  This puzzled Remus, for there were small children everywhere in the other shops they'd visited, and he only discovered later that it was because Ikea had its own way of handling small people; it contained them in their own specially designed section of the store while their adult companions browsed at their ... well, not _leisure_ precisely, but Remus told himself that he was not about to start coining new terms such as "purchase anxiety" when they hadn't been inside the store more than five minutes.

Sirius took a dislike to the catalogue before they were properly through the doors, saying moodily that it took all of the fun out of things.  Remus agreed with him in principle, but took a copy anyway as he suspected certain vital information might be contained within it.  And indeed there might well have been vital information inside it, but a cursory glance or two failed to reveal it.  It did, however, reveal a little paper tape-measure and a tiny pencil, which Sirius examined with visible disdain - all the worse for his dignified silence as he handed them back.

"How do you even know about this place?" he demanded.

"I've been here before."  Just the once; he'd taken a walk through the store before deciding whether it was worth the effort of applying for a job there, but in the event Dumbledore hired him as the DADA professor first.  Remus gave Sirius a quick smile.  "I don't really think we'll be buying furniture here, Padfoot, but the china is reasonably priced.  Besides, I know you like meatballs."

"Meatballs?"  Sirius looked hopelessly perplexed at this apparent segue.

"They have a restaurant.  I know you'll enjoy it."  Remus tucked a hand through the crook of his elbow.  "Now - I believe the whole point of the layout is to make sure you see everything, so the trick is to keep moving until you find what you're looking for, and not get distracted ..."

Distraction was the problem for everyone in the store, it seemed, but while the Muggles were pleasantly distracted by what they saw, Sirius was more distracted by his poorly concealed horror.

"This is the kind of thing that gives Muggles a bad name!" he hissed to Remus as they passed through a display of bedroom furniture.  It was certainly very unlike the wizard styles they were both used to.

Remus could understand Sirius's point of view.  He wouldn't want most of the furniture on display either, given a choice, but his perspective was a little different inasmuch as he had learned the hard way that a bed was a bed, regardless of its appearance, and these Muggle contraptions were infinitely better than some of the so-called beds he'd slept on during the period of Sirius's imprisonment in Azkaban.  He was only too aware, however, that even the most liberal wizard households were fifty years or more behind Muggles in many respects.  Muggle tastes changed in the blink of an eye in and almost every aspect they were more innovative and experimental than the magical world; their styles had moved on and the word "modern" might as well be a synonym for "non-magical".  He wondered if the fact that he and Sirius found the displays ugly meant that they genuinely had better taste than the average Ikea patron or whether it was simply a reflection of their wizardly inability to assimilate the concept of flat-packed, home-assembly furniture.

This was not a debate he needed to have with himself, though, especially when they were trying to ease their way around a group of Muggles who _seemed_ to be admiring an oddly-shaped bed draped in bright orange.

"This reminds me, do you want to go back to using a quilt on the bed or shall we stick with sheets and blankets?"

Sirius took one look at the orange quilt cover and shuddered.  "Blankets, blankets, _blankets ..._ "

Making their way through the shop seemed to take forever, but eventually they came to the kitchens and were able to examine the tableware on offer.  Sirius was inclined to be a little dismissive of this too, but with Remus's encouragement they found a fairly simple and robust-looking collection of silverware, crockery and the all-important teapot with its attendant milk jug, sugar bowl and so on.  They made a note of it and finally headed for the 'market hall' to collect it.

An alarming thought suddenly reared up in Remus's mind as they queued to pay.  "Did you change enough money to cover this stuff?"

Sirius fished out his wallet and coin pouch and picked through them, muttering under his breath.  It was the mutter that convinced Remus that he was being deliberately wound up.

"I knew I should have spouted my grandmother's silver teapot before we came here," he remarked.  "We're going to be humiliated at the till and escorted off the premises by the security guard."

"If you had a spare teapot stashed away somewhere, why are we here at all?"

Remus grinned.

"I hope you were serious about the meatballs," Sirius grumbled, once he'd paid.  "I need something to keep my strength up after all that."

"Trust me, I was serious about the meatballs," Remus reassured him.  Privately, he was grateful that they'd made it as far as meatballs without some sort of disaster, which had seemed likely in the face of Sirius's grouchy behaviour.

Ikea had one final insult to offer his partner's lacerated sensibilities, however.

"Moony."

"Hm?"

"Those pictures above the people serving ..."

"What about them?"

"Nine meatballs?"

Remus raised a questioning brow.  "They're only small meatballs, Sirius.  They're not going to be like those ones we used to make when we lived in the flat."  They'd been the size of cannon shot, some of them, and taken nearly an hour to cook through.

"Yeah, but ..."  Sirius paused, regarding the sign with an unreadable expression.

"What about it?"  The serving line was moving at a crawl.

"Nine meatballs.  _Nine._   Why nine?"

"Its a nice round number?  I have no idea.  You can buy more if you want - fifteen or twenty-two."

"It's just a strange number.  Do you think they count them?  What happens if they accidentally give you ten instead of nine?"

"Won't happen, mate," the man standing behind them said unexpectedly.  He grimaced expressively at Sirius.  "I've been eating here for two years and they never slip up - it's always _exactly_ the number of meatballs you ask for.  I don't know how they do it, but I reckon they train the servers to pick up just so many."

"What kind of a nut-house restaurant does that?" Sirius demanded, looking at Remus.

"The kind of nut-house restaurant that throws you out if you cause trouble in the queue," Remus said flatly, deciding that he had to head off trouble before Sirius did or said something outrageous that the Muggles couldn't ignore.  "Just decide how many meatballs you want, all right?"

"Twelve," Sirius said, looking mulish, and the man behind them snorted his amusement.

"Stop it," Remus warned.  "Don't make me order for you."

"The drinks aren't so bad," Sirius's new-found friend offered after a moment or two longer waiting.  "You pay for the cup, but you can refill it as much as you like."

Sirius was instantly diverted.  "You buy the cup?  You can take it away with you?"

Remus rolled his eyes.

"Nah, mate," the man replied, giving Sirius an odd look.  "You're paying for the drink really, see?  But you only pay once."

"This is insane!" Sirius complained.

"I know," Remus said sympathetically.  "I can't imagine why you don't fit in here."

 

 

 **Part 11**

It was difficult to say, but Remus thought that the trip to Ikea had chastened Sirius somewhat.  Having seen just how bad furniture could be, he relaxed his stringent requirements and as a result they were able to start acquiring such necessities as beds, chairs, bookcases and chests of drawers.  This was helped by the unexpected discovery of a Muggle antiques shop selling some charming old-fashioned furniture, and as the Galleon was currently very strong against the pound it wasn't nearly as expensive as Remus had feared it would be.  Carpets and rugs came next; they took a couple that were mostly curse-free out of guest rooms at Grimmauld Place, and bought others, spell-shrunk for carrying and magically self-sizing, from a tiny wizard market in Merthyr Tydfil.  The walls of some of the rooms were still a little rough-looking and bare to Remus's eye, so they visited some fascinating ethnic shops in various cities to purchase vivid hangings to cover them.  Sirius also found a handsome full-length tapestry in a second-hand shop, depicting a Roman grape harvest - complete with lively, if unmoving, bacchanal in progress - and one look at it told Remus why he'd chosen it.

"It's like a more wholesome version of the mural in the bathhouse!" he said at once, grinning.  "You're not planning to hang it in the bathroom, are you, though?  I don't think we could spell it enough to stop moisture damage."

"Nope - I'm going to hang it over that door on the landing, the one into the main house."  Sirius raised his brows at Remus enquiringly.  "Just until I work out the right charms to secure and hide it instead."

"Is that really necessary?  Neither of us likely to go through there, after all."

"No, but Harry's just a kid and if he's anything like James, he won't be able to stop himself poking around.  I don't want him getting into the main house by accident - better to just hide the door, really, so he's not tempted."

This hadn't even occurred to Remus and he felt a surge of pride in Sirius for foreseeing it.  Of course Harry would be curious, even if he was forewarned about the main house.

"Good thinking," he approved.  "I suppose we'll need to see about the wards as well, and make sure they're secure enough for Dumbledore's liking."

"He won't like anything weaker than the wards at Hogwarts," Sirius said pessimistically, "but we could get Mad-Eye to go over them and give us an opinion on whether they're strong enough to repel stray Death Eaters.  I'd be bloody surprised if they're not, personally.  Mother might have allowed Reg to bring his nasty little pals back to Grimmauld Place, but even she wouldn't have allowed Macnair free access to the Manor.  Come to think of it, neither would Bella," he added, his expression darkening into a disturbing sneer.  "It's one thing to shag somebody at a party, darling, but one has to have _some_ standards!"

"Ouch," Remus said, uneasily fascinated.  "That's a level of pureblood etiquette I don't think I need to know any more about, thanks.  Look, I think getting Mad-Eye to take a look's a good idea, but let's get everything completely straight first.  It makes a better impression if we look like we're prepared for a teenaged tearaway."  Trying to banish Sirius' brooding frown, he added in a bantering tone, "This is a chance to unleash our inner Marauders!  We can use all those skills we acquired exploring Hogwarts to try and find any flaws in the arrangements here."

This didn't cheer up Sirius wholly, but he agreed that Harry would have to be pretty sharp to get past the two of them with their history.  "Although if he does take after James, he _will_ be pretty sharp."

"He's still thirteen, which limits how much he can act on his smarts," Remus said diplomatically.

Furniture for Harry's room, and the spare room, was sorted out without too much trauma in the end.  It seemed likely that Sirius would regret the pirate bed until the end of his days, but he wasn't difficult about alternatives and they settled without any argument upon a warm colour scheme of brown and cream - colours which, to Remus's personal relief, were unlikely to trigger any unfortunate associations with any of the Hogwarts house colours.  The walls here they left bare, for Harry to decorate however he wished and stamp his own mark upon.  The wardrobe and dresser had come from the second-hand shop, but the bed they ended up taking from Grimmauld Place, from one of the guest rooms; a surprisingly simple queen-sized oak four-poster frame which hadn't looked much in its original setting after years of neglect, but once cleaned and polished with beeswax showed itself to be a rather handsome item. 

On the off-chance that Harry might not feel comfortable in the turret room ("Merlin knows, I don't," Sirius said with a grimace, as they hung the bed curtains), they decorated the spare room along their landing in the same colours, although the bed there was a much simpler single pine bedstead without the posts, and they didn't bother making the bed up for the time being.

One argument did arise.  Remus had given Sirius full rein in their bedroom, allowing him to make all the choices in furnishings; it wasn't until they were making up the huge king-sized four-poster that it occurred to Sirius to be suspicious of this.

"What about you?" he demanded suddenly, as Remus wrestled with the enormous bolster at the head of the bed.  "Isn't there anything you'd prefer?"

Remus hesitated.  "Actually, Pads, I ... well, I was thinking maybe I could have the room next door."

He wished he'd phrased this better when he looked up and saw how white Sirius had turned.

"Not to live in!" he said quickly, dropping the bolster and hurrying around the end of the bed.  "Just to stash my stuff in and keep as a bolt hole - oh damn it, that isn't what I mean either, not exactly ..."

Sirius sat down with a thump on the end of the bed, looking a little sick.  "Moony - love - I know I've been difficult to put up with since I got out, but - "

" _But nothing_ ," Remus said fiercely, grabbing his shoulders and giving them a little shake.  "Cripes, I couldn't have put that more stupidly if I tried, could I?  Sirius, I'm not planning to move out of our room, alright?  I just ..."  He stopped, trying to think of how to express what was in his head.

"My parents had separate bedrooms," Sirius said in a small voice.  "They - they didn't hate each other, at least I don't think they did, but they were like - they were autonomous, like business partners, not married people.  The family was a business to them, something that had to be managed, like the estate and holdings, and me and Reg - we were the Heir and the Spare, bits of the estate, not their children.  Until I met your parents, and James's, I thought that was how marriages worked.  And it wasn't until we ..."  He stopped, one hand reaching out to grip the bedpost beside him, fingers clenching around it convulsively.  He gave Remus a very weak, painful smile.  "It took me a while to realise that most people got married because they liked each other."

 _Oh Merlin ..._   Remus crouched down in front of him, gripping his knees gently.  "Love, I'm not talking about moving out of our bed, do you understand?  That's not going to happen - you don't get rid of me that easily."

"Then _why_ ..."  Sirius's voice cracked on a perilously whiny note and he stopped, swallowing and blinking rapidly.

"Because when we were boys we were used to sharing our space and living on top of each other," Remus said gently.  "That kind of thing was different when we were teenagers, Padfoot.  If we got pissed off with being in each other's space all the time, we snapped and snarled and sometimes punched the hell out of each other, and it didn't matter because that's the way teenagers deal with things.  We're grown men now, though, and we've both spent a lot of time on our own - we haven't grown up together and sorted out how we manage our personal space around each other.  I don't know about you, but I've become used to being very alone most of the time.  That doesn't mean I like it much, but it's how things have been and it's what I'm used to, and on top of that the wolf in me has a pretty nasty temper at times.  So sometimes ... I think sometimes _you'll_ be grateful as I am if I have a place I can hide in for a while.  Come to think of it, it's a good idea if Harry's going to be around too," he added, as an afterthought.

"Harry?"

"Well, he doesn't know about us, does he?  And at his age he might not be very broadminded about it.  So ..."  Remus shrugged.  "If there's a pretence of separate rooms, it might make things a little easier at first.  It'll allow him to ignore it if he needs to."

"I'm not going to hide it from him," Sirius said sharply.

"Of course not.  But there's a huge gulf between hiding it and shoving it under his nose, and until we work out how he's likely to react I just think we shouldn't present it to him in a way he might not be able to handle."  Remus sighed.  "He has a lot to deal with already, without making unreasonable emotional demands of him, Sirius.  Possibly a new family set-up will be as much as he can cope with for the time being."

He sat back on his heels and regarded his partner's brooding expression.  "Are you okay with that?  The room, I mean?  I can dump some of my crap in there as well, and sort it out later, when I have time.  I do have a few bits and pieces still stored elsewhere - nothing vital, just books and so on."

"Okay."  Sirius still looked reluctant, but the discussion of Harry's needs had distracted him a little.  "You know, he hasn't written or anything.  Do you think he's still pissed off at me?"

Remus snorted and stood up.  "No.  I think he's thirteen and unused to having anyone to write to!  It probably hasn't occurred to him that he can, that's all."

Oddly enough, the following morning a Snowy owl arrived bearing a letter from Harry.

 

~~~

 

The writings of teenagers, especially teenaged boys, sometimes required a special kind of translation, Remus felt, although it helped to have once been a teacher with some small acquaintance with Harry's particular thought processes.  Sirius's first reading of the brief, cryptic letter from his godson was mostly productive of bemusement.

"I'm ... not sure what he's telling me about," he said, regarding it with a furrowed brow.  "I mean, I _see_ what he's saying but I'm not sure why he's saying it.  He has a week of detentions, though.  With Snivellus of course.  Maybe he thinks I can do something to get him out of that?  I can't, can I?  I know I'm his guardian, but - "

"I'm pretty sure that's not what he's saying," Remus said calmly, setting their new teapot carefully in the middle of the kitchen table and Summoning the mugs.  "It probably helps if you ignore what he wrote, actually.  The important part is that he wrote to you at all.  What's the general tone of it?"

"He _seems_ quite cheerful."  Sirius made a face.  "He has a week of detentions with Snape and he's happy about it?"

Remus grinned.  "I doubt it!"

"I give up.  You read it."

Remus accepted the messy sheet of parchment and shook his head over it.  "I hope his handwriting improves a little - I did nudge him about that a few times.  I suppose it took him a while to get used to a quill."  He scanned it with interest.  As he'd half-expected, Harry talked rather randomly about the detention, knotty Charms problems, Quidditch - all trivialities, although probably not so trivial to Harry himself.  The tone was quite upbeat, almost happy at the tantalisingly uninformative mention of the incident that had resulted in his detention (something to do with Draco Malfoy), but Remus could quite see why the apparent inconsequentiality of it puzzled Sirius.  The most telling words came right at the end: _Maybe I'll see you soon, Harry._

"I'm no expert," he said, handing it back, "but I'd say he's looking for reassurance.  Something to show that you haven't gone away and forgotten him."

"I wouldn't do that."

"He's a neglected child, Sirius.  To him, _everyone_ does that."

"I'll write back."  Sirius frowned.  "Any suggestions about what I should say?  I mean, he hasn't exactly given me much to work with."

"Well, you could follow his lead and talk about anything but the thing he most wants to know," Remus said dryly.  He rolled his eyes at Sirius's expression.  "Tell him his bedroom's ready for him, you prat!  That's the sort of thing he's waiting to hear.  And tell him how dangerous the house is, he'll like that.  Try to think on his level!  You could make a point of saying that you're fixing the wards to suit Dumbledore as well, so he really _knows_ you're doing everything to take charge of him."

"All right.  I'll do that now, and his owl can take it back to him."  Sirius stopped and made a face.  "Bloody hell, I bet we don't have any writing paper here!  Well, we've got to go back to Grimmauld Place to pick up your press and see to Kreacher ..."

 

~~~

 

Remus left Sirius in the study at Grimmauld Place, wrestling with the composition of a letter to Harry, and went to gather up the rest of his belongings.  He still had a couple of boxes of books stored away at his parents' house, which he retrieved although not without a barbed confrontation with his brother.

"So Mum and Dad are just a storage vault for you?" Rufus demanded, catching him as he climbed down from the attic with the second crate of books.

Remus almost felt weary at the sight of him, even though he hadn't encountered Rufus in the better part of a year; a state of affairs that suited both of them.  He supposed he couldn't entirely condemn Sirius for his poor relationship with the late Regulus when his own fraternal relations were so poor.  Rufus at least had never joined the Death Eaters, but his attitude wasn't a great improvement in his brother's opinion.

"How old are you, twelve?" he enquired, stacking the two boxes neatly on the floor before going back to make sure the attic door was latched and warded.  "By the way," he added when he returned, "you've forgotten the pile of rubbish _you_ left up there when you left home.  Do you even know what's in those trunks anymore?" 

 _I really shouldn't sink to his level_ , he thought, grimacing inwardly.  He wasn't in a mood to put up with Rufus's sniping, though.

"I'm not the one who only bothers to visit when I want something," Rufus retorted.

"But you make me feel so welcome here!"

"We're only worthwhile when the inbred psychotic pervert's busy, right?"

"I don't remember you making me welcome when Sirius was in prison either."  Remus sighed.  "Rufus, what do you want?  Nothing I do makes you happy, so why should I waste my time trying?"

Rufus's face changed so quickly that Remus flinched at the unexpected rage in it.

"I want my brother back!" he snapped, his voice dropping sharply so that their parents wouldn't hear from a couple of rooms away.  "I want the Remus I used to know, not this damn - "  For a moment words failed him, and he waved a mute hand at Remus.  "Not this _lapdog_ you've turned into, who'll do anything Black wants the minute he whistles!  What did he do to you?  How did he change you?  Merlin - they should have stuffed him back in Azkaban the minute they caught him, and left him for the Dementors to suck dry - "

"I'd like my brother back too," Remus interrupted grimly.  "Believe me, I don't like this sanctimonious little bigot you've become any more than you like me, Rufus, but I don't suppose either of us is going to change to please the other, so if you don't mind …"  He picked up his crates and shouldered past him.

"I can't believe someone let you teach children," Rufus said viciously.  "Thank Merlin they realised in time and threw you out."

"They threw me out because they found out I was a werewolf," Remus said, over his shoulder.  "But to be honest, one kind of bigotry is much the same as another to me."

 

~~~

 

He didn't go home straight away.

For all that he had kept his temper, Remus didn't want to return to Sirius with the confrontation on his mind; he had no intention of telling him about it and didn't want him to try to root it out of him.  Better to go somewhere to calm down first.  So he dropped the boxes off at the Manor and went to find the other bits and pieces he'd hidden in odd places over the years.  There was a small leather trunk, heavily warded, that he'd buried in the garden of the cottage on the coast; that one contained a few valuables, plus a small purse of coins of mixed denominations and currencies.  Remus was a little surprised that Rufus or one of his children hadn't found that one and removed it at some point, but when he moved the big planter and dug down a few feet, it was still there.  The coins were one of his 'emergency fund' stashes; a pitiful amount by most people's standards, but honestly earned, every Knut and penny of it, and the difference between eating and starving if things went badly. 

There was another hidden in a well-warded hole in a wall at the Shrieking Shack, along with a change of clothes and a couple of tatty paperback books.  Remus almost never underwent the change at the shack anymore if he could help it but, as with a couple of other places, it helped to be prepared for desperate times.  He opened the worn leather pouch, expecting to find a few Sickles, and instead discovered an impossible ten Galleons - and a tiny scrap of paper with familiar spidery handwriting on it.  Remus hated charity with a passion and after a moment of staring, he angrily stuffed the note and the money back in the hiding place and reset the wards.  If by some incredible bad luck (something he was horribly familiar with) he should end up in dire circumstances again, then he might, _might_ , return and take the unwanted gift.  Until then it could damn well stay there.

And then, because he didn't trust fate at all, he put the clothes back as well.

This episode left an even worse taste in his mouth than the quarrel with Rufus, and left him feeling unaccountably depressed.  He didn't really think things were going to go wrong again, did he?  That would involve something happening to Sirius again, and what was the likelihood of that?

But what had the likelihood been of the heir of the House of Black being sent to Azkaban for murder in the first place?  In retrospect it seemed incredible that they could have all so readily believed it of him, so much so that when he was sent away without trial even Remus hadn't stopped to question his lover's guilt.  Even though, believing that he had betrayed and murdered their friends, he _still_ would have set him free and gone on the run with him if he could.  Not willingly, because the wolf was an almost irresistible force inside him, but even so.

Remus didn't trust the world he lived in.  For all that he was happier now than he'd been since they first left school, a part of him kept waiting for the trap to close on them again.  And he wondered if he would ever be free of that.

The final hiding place he visited made him squirm guiltily inside, but it had been too good an opportunity at the time to waste conscience pangs over it.  Like all wizard churches, St. Mungo's in Diagon Alley was open to visitors at all times, but he hadn't been back there in years; kindly old Father Ecliptus had died just after the war and been replaced by a more rigid young priest, Father Mortimer, and this man was less welcoming of those who weren't pureblooded or fully human.  Not that Remus had felt particularly kindly towards God just after the war anyway.  He hadn't attended church for some five or six years after James and Lily's deaths, and even when he did return his attendance at any kind of service was sporadic and never at the same church more than twice in a row.

St. Mungo's was very quiet around midday, but Remus Disillusioned himself just in case and hid in the shadows by the entrance until he was sure there was no one hanging around.  Then he slipped over to the choir loft.  St. Mungo's was one of the few wizard churches in Britain that actually had a choir loft, as sung mass was rare in the Omnis Arcanum Church, but as a boy he'd had a reasonable singing voice and took his turn in the choir. 

The seats in the elderly church's choir loft were solid oak … except in one spot that he'd found quite by accident.  Remus smiled faintly at the memory and rubbed one knee as he slid along the narrow bench seats.  He'd come back into the empty loft to look for his watch after choir practice one afternoon and given his knee a devil of a crack on the corner of one bench in the half light.  Unlike the rest of the seats, it had given a hollow sound which, upon further investigation, revealed a section of board that was held in place by some very ancient nails and consequently was loose.  There was a small hollow under the seat.

At the time Remus had discovered an empty Honeydukes packet, circa 1810, and a small prayer book that had been extensively illustrated by someone with a decidedly more secular mind than the average denizen of a wizard church.  When he pried the board away carefully now, he found another small parcel containing money and a handful of valuables that he'd put there a few years ago and secured with a charm - along with the prayer book.  He retrieved it all and slipped out of the church again.

When he finally returned to Grimmauld Place, Sirius had finished his letter and sent it off to Harry and was engaged in piling up the last few items of their belongings next to Remus's dismantled printing press, ready for transporting to the Manor.

"I've given Kreacher his orders," he commented.  "As much as it's possible to, anyway.  For the time being he's just going to have to stay here and look after the house - which probably means he'll carry on listening to my mother and do sod all, but I don't see what else I can do."

"You can't," Remus assured him.  "He managed well enough after your mother died, and we can always pop in occasionally and make sure he's all right."

"Do I have to?" Sirius grumbled, but he agreed.  "I sent a note off to Moody as well, to see if he can check the wards at the Manor sometime.  The sooner we get that done, the sooner we can go back to Dumbledore and get him to sign over Harry."

"You might want to get Shacklebolt to look over the wards as well," Remus suggested.  "Moody's quite reliable on security, of course, but his paranoia levels could mean that _nothing_ will satisfy him."

"Yeah, I thought about that and told him to bring Shacklebolt and Tonks if he likes."

Remus wasn't sure why the mention of Tonks made the back of his neck prickle; there was no reason why she shouldn't be included, after all, and as she was family he supposed she had as much reason as anyone to visit the Manor.  He told himself that the wolf was getting ridiculously twitchy as he got older and put it to one side in favour of the question of where they would put the printing press when they got it home.

Sirius had given some thought to this.  "There are basements under the whole house," he said.  "It's not one big basement, either, there's several separate ones and each has a different entrance.  I was thinking we could take a look in the ones under the towers and clear a space for it in one of them.  And I was thinking …"  He hesitated, giving Remus a cautious look.  "I was thinking that we could fix one of them up as an emergency place for you to change, if we ever need to confine you for some reason.  What do you think?"

"I think that'd be a good idea," Remus said easily, "and better than trying to use this one here, although this is certainly better than some places I've changed in."

"Right, we'll sort that out when we get home.  Let's shift this stuff and get out of here."

 

~~~

 

By way of an experiment, they made fish and chips for supper that evening, Remus heating oil in the deepest of the saucepans while Sirius cut potatoes into chips and battered strips of fish.  Despite a conviction that the oil would either fail to heat up sufficiently on the stove or do something horrible to the copper of the pan, it was a wholehearted success which made up for the other deficiencies of the day.

"Flour," Remus said abruptly, as he watched Sirius mopping up the last of his mushy peas with a crust of bread.

"Come again?"

"Maybe later."  He flashed a wicked grin at his partner, and Sirius winked back at him cheerfully.  "I need to buy flour.  I'm damned if I'm going out for bread every other day, especially since there's a nook by the range for proving dough."

For a moment Sirius looked disconcerted.  "Did you make bread when we had the flat?  I don't remember that."

"No, love, it's a skill I've picked up in the meantime.  I'll teach you if you like."

"Yeah, why not?  Let's make a list."  He found a scrap of paper and a quill and began to jot things down.  "You'll need yeast, right?"

"Not necessarily.  I can make a sourdough starter without it."  Remus pushed his plate aside and leaned over the table, taking the quill from Sirius's fingers to note a few things down.  " _Strong_ flour, bread flour, and let's go mad and buy white _and_ wholemeal.  Honey - porridge oats - vegetables - more bacon and sausages - and let's get a roast of some kind for Sunday, I'm fed up of last-minute dinners."

"Do you want to go to church on Sunday?" Sirius asked him suddenly.

Remus blinked at him, a little surprised at this after his foray into St. Mungo's earlier in the day.  Sirius hadn't even mentioned going to church since he was freed.  "Do _you?_ "

"I don't mind.  You used to go every Sunday, but you haven't said anything about it, so I let it go, but - "

"I wasn't sure how you'd feel about it after everything that's happened."

Sirius grimaced.  "I'm not thinking about it too much," he admitted.  "I suppose I ought to be pissed off or something.  I don't know though."

"I was, for a while," Remus said.  "It was ... well, the early days were angry ones.  I didn't bother for years.  But after a while I cooled down a bit - and I have to admit that I was pretty lonely and going back to church at least brought me into contact with people occasionally."  He shrugged.  "I don't say it was much of a solution, because I wasn't always made welcome.  But I did eventually stop blaming God for the stuff that people do, and given an opportunity I do like to go to church.  I'm not about to force you into going with me though."

"We're right on the doorstep of Holy Bones," Sirius told him.  "It's part of the estate, my family's been propping up its finances for centuries.  My parents are probably in the crypt there, now I come to think of it."

Remus drew in a slow breath.  The Church of the Holy Bones was one of the oldest wizard churches in the British Isles and patronised by some of the oldest and highest-ranking families.  The Potters had their own pew there and James and Lily had married in the church - but only after Lily had undergone a gruelling conversion process.  It was one of only two churches that Remus hadn't even attempted to gain entrance to since 1981, despite knowing that the incumbent priest was a very gentle and religious man.  It wasn't the priest he had concerns about.

"I suppose that's convenient," he said reluctantly, "but do you want to face the congregation there?"

"I won't have to," Sirius replied, darkly humorous.  "My family's pew is in the front row."

 

~~~

 

"So, they're one-way portkeys timed for all the regular services?"  Remus examined the suede covered prayer book Sirius had handed him with interest.  "How very … organised.  Where did you find them?"

"In the study at Grimmauld Place.  They're what made me think of going to church, actually."  Sirius tugged on the collar of his formal robe.  "Is this straight?  Something's itching at the back of my neck."

"You didn't leave the label in, did you?"

"Madam Malkin doesn't put price labels on bespoke robes," Sirius pointed out, and he rolled his eyes at Remus's grin.  "Very funny.  Moony, come on - is my collar twisted?"

"Let me take a look - "

"No, don't bother, these portkeys'll go off in a minute."

They waited.  Nothing happened.

"Perhaps they've worn off," Remus suggested, at length.  "Let's just Apparate there."

"No, you can't," Sirius said, glaring at his prayer book.  "Holy Bones is warded against Apparition into the church and grounds.  Everyone in the congregation has a portkey like this - if you want to join the parish, you have to contact the Bishop's office first."

"We're going to be late," Remus warned.

"I know.  Damn it!  I forgot about this."

"Forgot about _what?_ "

"My great-grandmother tampered with the portkeys so that the Blacks always arrive after the rest of the congregation.  Fashionably late, if you like."  He gave Remus a pained look.  "It's to make a - "

The portkeys suddenly activated and swept them away.  Moments later they were dropped onto the paved pathway of a tiny little church that looked remarkably like an illustration out of _The Lord of the Rings_.  It was set in a woodland clearing, as though it had somehow sprouted in the middle of a clump of enormous oaks, and two very ancient tree trunks had been carved to form the lintels of an equally ancient entrance.  It had a high, tiled ridge on a roof that sloped precariously down to gables that framed high stained-glass windows that probably let in very little natural light.  In places the roof was little more than a couple of feet above the ground.  It could only ever have been a wizard church; Remus quite honestly doubted that the building would stay upright without magic to support it.

"Great, we're the last ones to arrive," Sirius said, as they approached the door.  "Ready for this?"

"No," Remus grumbled.

Sirius unlatched the door as quietly as he could, but like many churches it had excellent acoustics and the booming echo as the old door reluctantly opened made Remus wince.  Everyone looked around to see who was arriving so late and he smiled weakly at the couple of people sitting in the rear pews as Sirius eased the door shut again behind them.

The church was filled with yellow light from the myriad of candles everywhere - in chandeliers above the aisle, in lamps on posts at the ends of the pews, floating in the air randomly - and it made it hard to miss both the disapproving faces of the other worshippers and the décor of the chancel.

Familiarity never lessened the impact of the Church of the Holy Bones when you walked through that door.  Remus tried to ignore the glowing eye-sockets of the two human skulls directly in front of him.  They were lamps on the pews; small skulls, far too small to have belonged to adults, but undoubtedly real all the same.

Sirius gamely held his head up and led the way down the aisle.  Remus followed him, pulling his eyes away from the skull lamps - there was one at the end of each pew - and instead focussed on the decorations on the pews below.  It was easier than looking at the people sitting on the pews, although only marginally; he had forgotten how creepy this church was.  More bones - arm bones to judge by the length of them - framed the edge of the pews, with dainty details picked out in finger and toe bones.  He glanced up and saw the half-remembered candelabras made from spinal vertebrae; he shifted his eyes forward and saw the high altar, a smooth white quartz slab decorated with bones in intriguing patterns.  The lamps on the ends of the altar were adult skulls.

It provided a handy distraction from the expressions of the congregation, none of which were particularly kindly, as they passed them on their way to the empty front pews.  The Black pew was on the left of the aisle as they approached it, the family coat of arms and motto carved into the far more elaborately decorated wood.  The seats had thin, flat cushions on them made of faded navy blue velvet with the arms stitched onto them in silver.  On the right-hand side of the aisle was the Potter family pew, their stag's head coat of arms carved into the age-blackened wood.  Incredibly, an elderly leather-bound bible and set of prayer books still lay open, with their heavy green silk markers lying across the pages, on the book-rest in front of the first seats, where James and Lily Potter had sat during Harry's Christening.  As no one else would ever dream of sitting in that pew without the family's invitation, the inescapable conclusion was that the books and bible had been left there, untouched, for the better part of thirteen years.

The hair came up on the back of Remus's neck as he and Sirius shuffled into the Black family pew and sat down, and it wasn't entirely because of the eyes on them.  Then the priest and servers came out of the sanctuary in procession and everyone stood up. 

The incumbent priest at the Church of the Holy Bones was Father Ignatius Yaxley, and had been for the better part of a century.  Remus had no idea how old he was, only that he had never looked any different than he did now.  He was a tiny, stooping man with a white beard that nearly touched the ground and the thin, fragile bones of a bird, but he was one of the kindest, most unworldly men Remus had ever met and very nearly the ideal of a man of God - if your ideal was one of humble sanctity.  Considering the family he came from (the Yaxleys were another stiff-rumped, pureblooded First Family) his gentle lack of ambition was remarkable.  Curates would come and go under his tutelage - one of them had gone on to become to the current Bishop of Avebury, primate of the Omnis Arcanum Church in the British Isles - but Father Ignatius remained with his flock, dispensing communion and comfort as needed.

When James had insisted on him being one of Harry's godparents, Remus had felt obliged to tell Father Ignatius that he was a werewolf.  Actually, he'd been rather defensive about it, expecting a rebuff, but Father Ignatius had only blinked at him thoughtfully before saying "Well, that is certainly a most unfortunate cross you bear, my son, but I feel sure the boy will benefit from your unique insights into life."  And he'd patted Remus's hand kindly.  That, it seemed, was that, as far as the priest was concerned.

The current curate and servers might blink in surprise and dismay at the two men in the front pew, but Father Ignatius passed them without apparently being aware of their presence.  Remus thought this was unlikely; unworldly he might be, but unobservant he wasn't.  _After_ the service he would remark on their presence, if he was going to.

And so he did.  Rather than make a pointed exit in the manner of his father and mother, Sirius dawdled as everyone left, following the last stragglers out of the door.  Father Ignatius and the curate were waiting patiently for them, and Remus was a little embarrassed at how genuinely pleased the priest seemed to be to see them.  Sirius knelt to kiss his ring in the ancient gesture of respect and when he stood up again Father Ignatius clasped his hands impulsively, beaming up at him.

"My dear son!  So good, so very good, to see you here once more, after so long and so many trials!"  He turned to his curate - who was clearly struggling a little at witnessing this effusive greeting of a man who had spent twelve years in prison for multiple murders - and said, "Ernesto, dear boy, permit me to introduce Sirius Black - head of the Black family, who have been our most gracious patrons for hundreds of years.  Father Ernesto, I must tell you, is shortly to leave us.  He has been honoured with a position at the Patriarch's Basilica.  We are all very proud of him!"

He smiled impartially at them all, then abandoned Father Ernesto to Sirius as he turned to greet Remus, who promptly dropped to one need to kiss his ring too.

"And you, my son, I have often wondered what became of you in the aftermath of that dreadful autumn …"

"Well, that wasn't so traumatic," Sirius remarked, when they returned to the Manor a little while later.  "I half-expected Father Iggy to have passed away in the meantime, but he never changes, does he?"

"They grew tough priests when he was a young man," Remus said.  He stripped off his outer robe and handed it to Sirius, then went to peer into a wide earthenware jar that stood at the side of the range.  "Oh, hey - look!  It's starting to ferment already!"

Sirius looked over his shoulder at the beige gloop in the jar that was frothing a little and emitting an odd, although not unpleasant, smell.  This was Remus's sourdough starter.  "Does that mean you can use it now?"

"No, it'll be at least a week of feeding it before it's ready.  I'll use some dried yeast today.  Do you still want to have a go?"

"Yeah, why not?"

Half an hour later, they were both kneading lumps of dough, Sirius somewhat dubiously but with an air of interest in the mysterious alchemical process occurring under his hands.

"That curate didn't think much of us, did he?" he commented idly, squashing and folding the dough in a rough imitation of Remus's smooth kneading.  "I don't know if he was scared of me or horrified at being introduced to me in the first place.  He practically had the words _escaped convict!_ hanging over his head."

"Doesn't sound like we'll have to worry about him for much longer, if he's heading off to Constantinople.  It's all the others that bother me.  The Weasleys were there, did you see?"

"Hard to miss all that red hair.  Arthur didn't seem to mind too much, but Molly looked a bit put out when she saw us.  Hard to believe she's the twins' older sister, isn't it?  How many kids do they have?"

"Seven, and they have a pair of twins themselves," Remus replied.  "Six boys and a girl.  All but two of the kids are at Hogwarts, although Percy leaves at the end of the summer term.  He's very bright - Head Boy this year, and everyone expects him to do well.  I think he wants to work at the Ministry, like Arthur, although probably not in the same department."

"How can he do well at the Ministry?" Sirius said, making a face.  "Anyway, the happy congregation of Holy Bones can just get used to us being there.  If Father Iggy doesn't mind, then they've got nothing to grumble about."

"We should do something about those portkeys though," Remus suggested.  "It's hard to keep a modest profile and avoid offending people when you're turning up late to church every week."

"I'll have a look at them.  I might have to contact the Bishop's office, though, and request new ones, if I can't fix them."  Sirius give his lump of dough a prod with a long finger, and began to twist it into obscene shapes.  "Hey, how long do we have to do this for?  I'm bored with this part."

"About ten minutes," Remus said, entirely unsurprised.  "Honestly, Sirius, you have the attention span of a gnat.  Give it to me."

 

~~~

 

Moody turned up nearly a week later, with Kingsley and Tonks in tow.

"We're here for lunch with old friends if anyone asks," he told Remus brusquely when Remus would have thanked him for helping out.  "Nothing to do with wards, all right?"

Tonks rolled her eyes at him, grinning, when Remus was momentarily stuck for a response to this.  Her hair was bright green for a change and held in two jaunty bunches on either side of her head by little tinsel bands.

"I saw that, _Nymphadora_ ," Moody barked, his eye whirling back and forth.  "You'll learn your lesson too late, girl!  _Never_ give pillocks like Scrimgeour anything to pin on you!"

"Especially not lunch," Kingsley said in his deep, calm voice.  It was difficult to tell if he was joking or not.

"We can manage lunch," Sirius said, "if you think it won't be too incriminating, that is."  He was standing beside the kitchen table with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders very slightly hunched, and Remus couldn't work out what the matter was.

"Tea," he said, taking refuge in his favourite ritual and heading to the stove to put the kettle on.

"Hullo Moody," Sirius said to the old Auror.  This was the first time they'd met and actually had an opportunity to talk since he'd got out of Azkaban, and the half-smile he gave Moody in greeting was oddly subdued.

"Is _that_ all you have to say for yourself?"  Moody's scowl was ferocious.  "Bloody fool boy!  I leave you to your own recognisance for _one evening_ and you go out and get yourself framed for mass murder!  I still don't know why I bothered with you and Potter, the pair of you were like jerry-rigged rockets."

"It's not like any of us knew P-peter was the spy," Sirius pointed out.

"Damn well should have," Moody grumbled, stumping over to the table and pulling out a chair.  "Mousy little runts like him are always the sort that turn.  Still, he got past us all and that Quaffle missed the hoop a long time ago.  At least you got out of prison with most of your gobstones still intact."  He shot Sirius another fierce look.  "You coming back to the department?"

"Not likely!"

"That's what we all say.  Believe it when I see it, is what _I_ say."

"It'd liven the place up a bit," Tonks remarked, and she parked herself on the edge of the kitchen table, looking around the room with frank interest.  "So this is the old homestead?  Doesn't look so bad from this angle - from the things Mum says, I was expecting to get eaten by a wyvern in the garden."

"It could still happen," Remus said dryly, directing a flock of mugs and plates to the table.  "We've barely touched the garden yet and I don't suppose we'll ever tame it fully.  It's run wild for too long.  We were looking at the greenhouses yesterday and all sorts of things were running loose in the undergrowth."

"We've blocked off most of the main house," Sirius said, taking a covered plate of sandwiches out of the cold store and setting them on the table.  "That's the dangerous part - some of my father's creatures are running around in there, for a start."

"Creatures?" Kingsley asked, tilting his head curiously.

"He was an Animator," Sirius said, rather grimly.  "Making nasty little self-propelled gadgets was his favourite pastime."

"Wouldn't they have died when he did?" Tonks asked, surprised.

"Animation doesn't work that way.  You can control a thing directly or give it enough magic to control itself," Kingsley told her before Sirius could answer.  "If you give it its own magic, the object can maintain a simulation of life indefinitely."

"Mum never mentioned that."

"She wouldn't," Sirius said.  "None of us talked about it.  Besides, it's not just the gadgets.  The place is hexed left and right, if I know my mother, and it wasn't closed up properly - it's in a pretty bad state.  Even if we fancied tackling all the magical problems, it wouldn't be worth it because I don't have the money to sort out the physical renovations it'd need."

"You'll have to deal with it all sometime," Moody told Sirius, eyeing him shrewdly. 

"Maybe, but for now I'll be happy if we can secure this section and the grounds enough for Dumbledore to agree to Harry coming to live with us."

"You will _never_ be able to make grounds of this size completely safe," Kingsley told him.  "Lupin said it - after all this time, it just won't be possible to deal with every magical plant and creature that's encroached.  Even perfectly well-maintained properties of this size are alive with magical dangers.  Muggle settlements drive magical wildlife ahead of them as they expand, and the creatures retreat to places like this.  Anything living here now won't have somewhere else to go, so you'd be forced to kill it, and short of razing the ground with Fiendfyre there's no way to stop more creatures coming here."

"I'm not looking to sanitise the grounds," Sirius said.  He shot a quick grin at Remus.  "We _like_ the wild grounds.  What I need is to make sure that Harry can't accidentally or deliberately get into the main part of the house, and that the wards generally are strong enough to ensure his safety from external threats."

"From Death Eaters and Dark Lords," Moody croaked, and he grinned at their  expressions.  "Call me paranoid if you like, but I'll keep on arming my dustbins until I've seen the bodies," he added rather cryptically.

"The household and estate wards are pretty powerful," Remus put in, deciding not to touch Moody's last statement.  "We had some fun arranging things just so that you three could visit, so we think they should be good enough - but Professor Dumbledore is adamant that Harry can't live with us unless the security here is ... well beyond average, I suppose, although he hasn't actually offered any guidance on what'll be acceptable to him."

"What's Dumbledore got to do with it?" Tonks asked, frowning.  "Aren't you the Potter kid's legal guardian, Sirius?"

"He's one of the Potter Family trustees," Sirius replied.  "I haven't even spoken to the other two so far, but it's Dumbledore who settled Harry with his mum's relatives and he's made it clear that he'll block us taking the lad if he's not happy with the set-up here."

"Muggles, aren't they?" Moody said, his magic eye whirling idly.  "Decent enough sorts, I suppose?  Potter's wife was a smart girl."

Sirius looked at Remus, who made a face.

"Not really, Moody.  I'm sure they're harmless enough in their own way, but Lily's sister is heavily prejudiced against wizards.  I get the impression even from Dumbledore that Harry has a bit of a difficult life in their household."

"Better to get him out of there, then."  Moody was matter-of-fact.  "I know Albus - I reckon we can sort things out here so the boy'll be as safe here as anyone can be."

"Did you erect any of the current wards yourself, Black?" Kingsley asked.

"No - these are all longstanding family wards," Sirius said.  "We've modified them enough to allow us to come and go, and to admit visitors, but we haven't removed any or put up any new ones apart from the internal ones that seal off the main house."

Kingsley nodded.  "Just as well.  I smelled blood wards the minute we crossed the boundary.  If they're old wards you're safe, but setting up blood-warding is a borderline activity these days.  Depending on who catches you doing it, you could end up with a month in prison."

Sirius's brows went up.  "Seriously?  Merlin!  I can't think of a single First Family that doesn't use blood wards.  Even the Rose House has a full set - and Hogwarts!"

"They'll be old ones, though," Tonks commented.  "Mum and Dad have blood wards on the house - Dad says it was the only way to make it safe during the war."

Kingsley shrugged.  "Even so.  It's one of those poorly thought-out pieces of legislation brought in after the war.  Most Aurors and magistrates take a sensible view, but there are a few cranks who'd make an example of you for it.  Better not to tempt them."

"Great."  Sirius looked annoyed and exasperated.

"Hopefully we won't need to erect _any_ new wards," Remus said, intervening before Sirius could decide to start ranting.  He set the teapot on the table.  "Come on, everyone, help yourselves to sandwiches and - "

He was interrupted by a scream.  A blurred white shape streamed through the kitchen at high speed and swooped low across the table, making all three Aurors leap up with their wands out.  Remus just managed to slap a tea-cosy over the pot before she iced the tea, and she fled through the far wall, wailing and sobbing.

"Who the devil was that!" Moody demanded harshly.

"Cousin Susannah," Sirius said.  "Did she get the tea, Remus?"

"Nope - I charmed the cosy earlier.  I was half-expecting her to do something like that.  New audience, you see."  He saw Tonks's wide eyes and grinned.  "Sirius thinks she was fifteen when she died, and she acts like it.  She's desperate to be the centre of attention."

"You didn't mention the ghosts," Kingsley said to Sirius, very dry, and he put his wand away.

"I was working up to that."  Sirius peered at the sandwiches.  "I think she just chilled these a bit more.  Mind where you bite for a few minutes."

"That kind of thing happen often?" Moody asked.  He slowly sat down again, picked up a salmon sandwich and inspected it narrowly with his magic eye.

"Too often," Remus said at once.  "Fortunately the range is spelled to prevent anything tampering with it, but she's ruined three lots of bread dough by floating through them when they're rising, and her favourite pastime is startling one of us into breaking something."

"Don't even ask about the bathroom tiles," Sirius put in, grimacing.

"And then there's Orpheus."

"Orpheus?"  Tonks had recovered and was now perched on the edge of a seat, chin in her hands and watching them with bright, interested eyes.

"Uncle Orpheus, Tudor era," Sirius explained.  "He's in the plumbing.  Singing."

"I'm surprised he isn't carolling in the drains for your entertainment right this minute," Remus remarked.  An acid note entered his voice.  "He was at it for most of the night, so maybe he's sleeping it off this morning.  He's a real tart for attention, though - excuse my language, Tonks."

She sniggered.  "What's he doing in the drains?"

"That's what we'd like to know," Sirius said.  "He's supposed to be confined to the library, although _why_ I don't know.  It's not like he's at all bookish, from what I can remember my grandfather telling me.  He's been drunk since Henry the Eighth's funeral and he was probably drunk before that, come to think of it."

"At least he's happy," Kingsley said, beginning to smile.

"He's the only one of my relatives who is!"

"Hey, I'm happy!" Tonks told him, winking.  "And as far as I know, so's Mum."

"I know a bit about exorcism," Moody said, as he polished off his third sandwich.  "I'll have a word with the pair of them if you like.  Nothing like the threat of the final crossing to straighten out a stroppy spook.  What knocked off this Susannah piece in the first place?"

"Her sister strangled her - a wholly pardonable act," Remus said.

"Lovely people, the Blacks," Tonks remarked.  "Merlin, Mad-Eye, have you eaten all the salmon sarnies already?"

"Have a prawn one," Sirius offered, pushing the plate towards her, "and be glad you're a Tonks.  I wouldn't wish this pile of curses and bad attitude on anyone."

"You seem to have civilised this part of it quite successfully," Kingsley said calmly.

"Let's hope so - well, I suppose we'll know once you've taken a shifty at the wards."

 

~~~

 

Checking the wards took most of the afternoon.  Kingsley and Moody declared the boundary wards fully secure after making a complete circuit of them on broomsticks; this didn't come as much of a surprise to anyone when estate had been unfindable for over a decade.

The house was a little trickier, involving not just the outer wards to prevent unauthorised entry, but the more complicated inner wards sealing the servants' quarters off from the rest of the building.  Every window and door had to be warded individually, and every wall warded from roof to foundations.  Much of this the two of them had already done themselves, but Remus quietly requested that an extra set of anti-werewolf wards be added to the outer walls and around the bedrooms; he and Sirius had already discussed how they would manage with Harry on full moons, and this had been Remus's main stipulation.  These were particularly difficult, for they needed to allow him unhindered access in human form, but nobody quibbled about it.

Predictably, Cousin Susannah did her best to interfere - she seemed particularly put out by Tonks's presence - which resulted in Moody saying a few well-chosen words to her.  After she fled into the main house, crying noisily, Orpheus attempted to entertain them all with a remarkably filthy ditty or two.  Fortunately the quantities of dirty water he belched out of the drains muffled some of the words, and it didn't take much for Moody to convince him to retreat to his rightful haunt in the library.

"You've got to be firm with these fools," Moody told Sirius sternly.  "No namby-pamby half-arsed talk about _maybe_ calling in the exorcists - sock it to 'em that you've got a mate at the Ministry who'll see to 'em if they don't behave.  Ghosts are all a bunch of cowards anyway - they wouldn't still be here if they weren't so scared of dying in the first place."

"I don't know," Tonks said the Sirius, when they moved on to check the wards on the tower room.  "It livens the place up a bit, having them around.  It's not like they're malevolent or anything, just mischievous."

"I wouldn't say that to Remus if I were you.  He takes it personally when people make his bread go flat."

She grinned.

"Besides," Sirius continued, "you only say that because you don't live with them.  It's funny the first couple of times Orpheus blows the plug on the bathtub or Susannah pops up and makes you drop a plate, but it gets old.  And it's worse when they start kicking up a racket in the middle of the night."

"I suppose so.  Are you going to live here for long, do you think?  Mum was a bit sceptical about that."

Sirius was quiet for a moment.  "I hadn't thought about it, to be honest.  This is the best of our options right now."

At the end of the afternoon, they were all glad to collapse on the couch and armchairs in the Garden Room with tea and cakes.

"So, what do you reckon?" Sirius asked Moody, passing him a slice of date and walnut loaf.  "Think the wards will pass Dumbledore's inspection?"

"No idea," Moody said bluntly, "but they're better than any other set of domestic wards I've seen - barring a few places during the war which we shan't mention.  The lad'll be as safe here as you can make him without locking him up at Hogwarts or Gringotts.  Certainly a lot safer than in some Muggle house."

"I don't know about that," Remus commented.  "Dumbledore says there's a blood protection in Harry living with his relatives.  He won't get that here."

"He has to leave their household sooner or later," Kingsley said calmly.  "There are always ways around these things, and the very fact that Potter's a teenager will make it difficult to prevent situations arising where he can be got at.  What I find more dangerous in his current situation is his guardians, who aren't wizards and consequently can't hope to protect him in the event of an attack.  Bringing him to live here instead seems like an acceptable risk to me.  Provided you can protect him from any creatures living on the estate - which is no riskier than his parents' estate had he grown up there - he's probably going to be as safe here as he would be anywhere."  He shrugged.  "That's my professional opinion, anyway.  Life is always a risk, and that's a fact."

"And the rest of the house is well secured," Tonks added.  "If he tries to break in there from the outside, the ordinary intruder wards will stun him and hold him.  If he tries to get in from inside, you'll probably know about it before he does."

"And if I accidentally get into the house on a full moon?" Remus asked.  He saw Sirius's face.  "It's a valid question, Padfoot!  We have to be prepared for every possibility."

"If you get in, there are three layers of anti-werewolf wards to contain you on the lower level and ensure Potter is safe in the bedrooms," Kingsley said.  "One layer will sound an alarm if it's breached, a second will seal off the upper storey, and the third will trigger to prevent Potter leaving his room.  You'll need to ensure that he understands he mustn't leave the upper storey between sundown and sunrise, however."

"He seems like a sensible boy," Remus said.  "I don't think that'll be a problem."

"The chances of you getting into the house are almost nil in any case," Kingsley assured him.

"I don't like to take chances at all, but thank you."

"So what will you do next?" Tonks asked.

Remus looked at Sirius, who said, "Contact Dumbledore."

 

 **Part 12**

"Considering your forebodings, Sirius, you've made a remarkably welcoming home here," Dumbledore remarked, observing with appreciation the view of the gardens from the Garden Room's long windows.  It was a fine early May afternoon and they'd opened one of the windows to allow a light breeze to circulate; and with Cousin Susannah suitably chastened and minding her own business elsewhere, the smell of freshly-baked bread was finally wafting through from the kitchen.

"It's better than I expected," Sirius agreed.  "So long as I don't have to deal with the rest of the old pile, I think we'll be okay."

"I take it the rest of the house is in poor repair?"

"The portion of it that we saw.  The only part that was properly closed up was the kitchen, which was lucky I suppose." Sirius shrugged.  "I'm not planning to buy trouble for myself, sir.  Most of the house is sealed off and warded, and it can stay that way for the time being."

"And are you satisfied that the warding is completely secure?" Dumbledore asked.  This might have been a leading question, but there was nothing in his tone to suggest it.

"We had Moody, Kingsley and Tonks here last week to look at all of the wards," Remus said.  "The house and grounds, and particularly this part of the house, are as secure as we can possibly make them."

"A great deal more secure than most wizard properties, in fact," Sirius added.

Dumbledore inclined his head.  "I've spoken to Kingsley and Alastor, and listened carefully to everything they have to say."  He paused.  "Are you sure still you wish to take on Harry's guardianship?"

Sirius glanced at Remus, who nodded slightly.  "Yes, Professor - if you're happy with the arrangements here."

"Well, there is no denying that the protection his mother afforded him is unique and impossible to replicate," Dumbledore said.  "Nevertheless, it would be foolish and dishonest to say that no other protections can keep him as safe.  I've heard and considered all the arguments on _that_ head and accept the truth of them, and I agree that Harry will be as safe here as he can be made anywhere."

Sirius visibly relaxed.

"Nevertheless," Dumbledore added gently, "I believe there are still points to be considered.  Not least that you have no experience of teenagers generally, Sirius, and none of Harry in particular."

"I wouldn't say that," Sirius objected.  "I was a teenager myself once, and so was Remus."

A smile lit the Headmaster's face for a moment.  "As you say!  All the same, teenaged boys are a challenge, you will find, especially as each generation is a little different from the last.  Your own experiences will be invaluable, never doubt it, but at the same time …"  He paused, considering, and just for a moment his eyes flicked to Remus's face.  Remus didn't miss that tiny glance.  "Perhaps it would be best if I am blunt.  Sirius, Harry is a challenging individual above and beyond the normal behaviour of his peers.  The pressures upon him are subtly different and his childhood experiences are - not, perhaps, entirely unique but certainly rare amongst the current crop of pupils at Hogwarts.  He experiences great difficulty in making friends and forming productive relationships with his teachers, and his home life has not been a kind one.  He is isolated and unsociable.  Even I have found my dealings with him a challenge."

"Are you offering me an opportunity to withdraw my guardianship of him?" Sirius asked.  Remus couldn't tell what the effect of Dumbledore's speech had been on him.

Dumbledore sighed.  "I would do so if I thought you could be brought to do it," he admitted.  "I understand and respect your desire to do the right thing by your godson, never doubt it.  But what you may not realise is that he almost certainly has expectations of you - unreasonable, possibly even _irrational_ expectations - which he lacks the ability to communicate to you and consequently it is almost inevitable that you will fail to fulfil them.  This can only result in a difficult situation for all concerned."

"What sort of expectations are we talking about?" Remus asked.

"I have no idea," Dumbledore said at once, to his dismay.  "He is surely searching for a father figure, but as he has no reference point for a good father, no one can say what that ideal might be for him.  Consider what he knows of his own father - that James was a brilliant student and Quidditch player, the Head Boy, and someone who achieved the Animagus transformation at fifteen.  He also knows that James died trying to save him and his mother.  If you possessed only those facts, what manner of picture would _you_ build of James?"

"A paragon," Remus said, understanding.

"Indeed.  There is nothing untrue in those bald facts, but they leave out every detail that made James a living, breathing human being - one with inevitable faults alongside his virtues."

"There's nothing wrong with him idolising his father," Sirius said sharply.

"No, but it means he's going to be highly critical of anyone standing in James's place," Remus said. 

"More than that, he is unprepared for the reality of James," Dumbledore warned.  "He will eventually encounter criticism of his father that he cannot ignore and when he realises that James was not the god of his imagination, he may be unprepared for the revelation.  That he will be disappointed and perhaps angry is inevitable, but are you ready to be the realistic face of fatherhood when he needs someone to fall back upon?  Or can you, perhaps, prepare him for the reality before a distressing disillusionment becomes inevitable?"

"James was a good man!" Sirius said, beginning to grow angry.  "You talk as though there's something disgusting in his past that Harry can't cope with hearing about!"

"You have no idea what Harry would find distressing," Dumbledore told him.  "Not everyone loved James as you do.  Not everyone knew him as you did.  And Harry does not _know_ him at all."

"Merlin!"

"Sirius …"  Remus squeezed his arm, but Sirius pulled away and went to stand staring out of the windows.  "Professor - "

"Despite appearances, I'm truly not trying to think up ways to prevent you doing what you perceive to be your duty by the boy," Dumbledore interrupted, giving him an apologetic look.  "My conscience demands that I make you aware of possible pitfalls.  His expectations of you are one; your own expectations of him are another, for while you, Remus, have some familiarity with Harry, Sirius does not and I feel sure that he will come as a surprise to him upon greater acquaintance.  His shock at discovering Harry was sorted into Slytherin House is illustrative."

Sirius turned back to face them abruptly, and his expression was stormy.  "How did that happen anyway?" he demanded.

"The Sorting Hat does not make mistakes."  Dumbledore's tone was tranquil, but his eyes on Sirius's face were watchful.

"Most of my family were sorted into Slytherin," Sirius said flatly.  "People like the Malfoys and Rosiers and Goyles have been Slytherins for centuries.  _Voldemort_ was a Slytherin."

"Slytherins are not automatically marked for Dark wizardry," Dumbledore told him, and a note of sternness crept into his voice.  "Their defining characteristics are ambition and a certain creativity - a singular drive to achieve, if you will - and the unique social structure of the house lends itself to a very political outlook.  But evil is not the inevitable result of being sorted into that house, any more than blind courage is the natural result of being sorted into Gryffindor.  Such characteristics rest upon an individual's moral fibre, and moral fibre or the lack of it is not unique to any of the four houses.

"But you have mentioned Voldemort, and he is another of Harry's pitfalls that must be mentioned.  Most regrettably, Harry's connection to Lord Voldemort is a defining characteristic of his life and one which you will have to deal with directly if you take charge of him."

"Voldemort's dead," Sirius objected.  When Dumbledore didn't respond to this immediately, he gave him an appalled look.  "Professor?"

"It may be more accurate to say that he is not alive as we would normally define the state; but that would be speculation based upon inadequate evidence," Dumbledore said.

"Oh my God - !"

"There is a connection between Harry and Lord Voldemort that is more than shared history, Sirius, and that connection is comprised of magic on a deeper and more complex level than any of us may fully comprehend.  I didn't understand this when Harry was a baby, but I know a great deal more now and what I deduce from that knowledge fills me with foreboding.  Do you begin to understand my insistence upon powerful protections for him?  That he is at risk from Lord Voldemort's former followers is certainly a consideration, but that they may one day be motivated by more than mere revenge is an even greater fear.  Harry is the key to everything where Lord Voldemort is concerned.  We must do everything we may to protect him, for our sakes as well as his own."

"You're talking about the prophecy," Remus said.

"Did James tell you of it?" Dumbledore asked him.

"Not the details, but I know there was one.  To be honest, I was more than a little sceptical when he mentioned it, which may be why he didn't say much."

"Sirius?  Did James take you into his confidence?"

"A little," Sirius said.  "I assumed it was fulfilled when Voldemort disappeared that night, but I haven't really thought much about it."  A shadow crossed his face for a moment.  "I had other things to dwell on.  Besides, divination isn't a precise art, is it?  Unreliable."

"It is true that the majority of those who call themselves seers are no such thing," Dumbledore agreed.  "There have been notable exceptions, however, and the prophecy in question was genuine.  You may place some confidence in that, as I was the one who heard it."

"And what did this prophecy say?" Remus asked.

"The exact wording would require a pensieve, but to be brief - that a child would be born at the end of July 1980, with powers unknown to Voldemort, whom Voldemort himself would mark as his equal."  Dumbledore paused, then added reluctantly, "Also that neither of them could live unless the other died."

"But if Voldemort's already dead ..." Sirius said.

"He is not; I have very few doubts of that.  Harry himself is the strongest proof that his nemesis yet survives in some form, for the scar that is his legacy of his first meeting with Lord Voldemort pains him sometimes.  Most notably it hurt him during Lord Voldemort's parasitic inhabitation of Professor Quirrell during Harry's first year at Hogwarts."

Silence.

"In realistic terms," Dumbledore continued eventually, "I feel certain this means it is only a matter of time before he returns in a more tangible form, and when that happens Harry will become his most urgent target.  Worse, it seems likely that Harry will be the only person who can rid us of him permanently."

Another pause.  Then Sirius straightened up briskly.

"In that case, it's just as well if Harry's living with us when it happens.  This place is practically a fortress, and Moony and I are members of the Order of the Phoenix - we've lots of experience in dealing with this sort of threat.  Petunia Evans would be worse than helpless if Death Eaters turned up at her house."

"The blood protection would protect all those dwelling under her roof," Dumbledore reminded him.

"Not if she decided to hand him over," Remus said.

Dumbledore looked at him rather sternly over the top of his spectacles.  "I believe you grossly misjudge her."

"Not at all.  If it was a choice between her own family and Harry - and she knowing so little of magic - would you lay any odds on what she'd do?  I wouldn't."

"Me neither," Sirius said with a snort.

"I made her aware of the full ramifications of Lily's sacrifice ..."

"And how much would that matter to someone non-magical, with no real understanding of magic, when she's being threatened - or, more likely, when her own son is being threatened?"

Dumbledore began to smile again, rather ruefully.  "You are most determined debaters!"

Sirius spread his hands in disclaimer.  "We're saying nothing but the truth, Professor, admit it!"

"I do not deny it."  Dumbledore sighed.  "Very well.  You have overborne all of my arguments, and we must take the future as it presents itself.  If you will instruct your solicitors, Sirius, I will speak to Miss MacDuff and Petuarius Pettifer.  You're aware that the matter of Harry's guardianship must be passed before the Family Court for confirmation?"

"I wasn't, but I am now."

"With the approval of his trustees, and the explicit wording of James's Will, it should be a mere formality, but even so you must be prepared for a delay of some weeks."  Dumbledore's eyes began to twinkle again.  "The Ministry does like its due processes and one would not wish to distress the bureaucrats by suggesting they hurry.  They have so few little pleasures in life."

 

~~~

 

As though the conversation with Dumbledore had been a catalyst, Sirius began to sleep poorly again.  Some of it was probably to do with concerns about fostering Harry, Remus thought, but he was also back to the horrible nightmares about James and Lily and his brother Regulus; there was a lot about the last war that was clearly still troubling Sirius, although if he remembered in the morning, he never spoke of it.

Remus didn't blame him for that.  The realisation that Voldemort was inevitably going to return at some point gave him some sleepless moments too, although his were mostly due to worries over Harry and the future.

Dumbledore had talked a little about what Harry did and didn't know about Voldemort.  He hadn't yet been told of the prophecy, and initially Sirius had been annoyed about this until Dumbledore laid out his reasons for keeping the boy in the dark.  He didn't know much about the link through his scar either, although he was aware in a distant sense that there was the potential for transference through it; he had once asked about being able to speak Parseltongue -

"One of the few occasions when he has actually asked questions," Dumbledore remarked, "for in general he keeps his own counsel and prefers to rely upon his own resources.  And he is highly resourceful, in his own way."

The Headmaster had also warned Sirius against telling Harry too soon that he was definitely coming to live with them.

"We don't want any unfortunate incidents that could cause the Family Court to exercise an unhelpful degree of initiative in the matter," was how he put it.

Sirius was inclined to indignant on Harry's behalf.  "What sort of 'unfortunate incidents' could possibly happen?"

"He ran away from home last autumn, after an argument with Petunia and her husband," Remus told him.  "It caused panic at the Ministry because, of course, you'd just escaped from Azkaban and were believed to be looking for him.  If the Court takes a few weeks to make a decision it'll take us into the summer holidays, and you don't want Harry creating a rumpus by deciding to skip off the train at Kings Cross or something like that because he's fed up of waiting.  Don't get his hopes up too quickly."

So Sirius reluctantly agreed to continue saying that he was working on the matter, although he told Remus later that if Harry decided to run away again in the meantime, he would have no hesitation in rounding him up and bringing the boy to live with them straight away, whether the Court had agreed to it or not.

"It's not like they can come and take him from us by force, with the wards on this place."

"You're just putting twelve years of prison behind you," Remus told him patiently.  "Don't be in such a hurry to rack up another dozen for child abduction."

So they spent their days putting the greenhouses and kitchen garden into order, and finishing off various odd jobs around their new home.  It was inevitable, Remus knew, that Sirius would become restless with this domestic activity as the days wore on; he was too, although he had long ago tamed the trait simply because his circumstances made it something he couldn't afford.  Sirius had always been an active person, mentally and physically, and while effecting seemingly endless repairs on the greenhouses kept his body occupied, it wasn't nearly enough for his active brain.  He fretted over the seemingly endless list of reasons he could find for the Court interfering in the smooth transfer of Harry's guardianship, although to Remus's relief he mostly insisted on pestering his solicitors about it rather than his partner.  Shoester and Slippet appeared to have extraordinary patience with him (they had long experience of dealing with fidgety First Family clients, as well as being well paid to put up with the nuisance), and retaliated only by delicately hinting that Sirius might like to take a more formal interest in their efforts to retrieve his family's money from the Ministry.  Since it was looking more and more as though in order to do this Sirius would need to formally declare himself the head of his family, take up his seat in the Wizengamot and provide himself with an heir of his body, it was an effective distraction.  He toned down his fussing as soon as it was mentioned and let them get on with their business unhindered.

"You shouldn't dismiss the suggestion out of hand, you know," Remus told him one day, as they planted out runner bean seedlings along a row of tall canes.  It was rather late for them, but the weather was mild rather than warm with a promise of a late-blooming summer, and with a bit of luck Remus thought they might do well enough.  "The Wizengamot is stuck in the last century and could really do with someone young and radical to help out people like Dumbledore who get shouted down when they suggest reforms."

"I'm no politician," was all Sirius would say.

"Everyone's a politician when something goes wrong and they point out how it could have been done better."

"I don't do that, do I?"

"We all do.  You just happen to be a position where you could do something about it if you chose."

"If I had to sit in that damn chamber and spend my days arguing the toss with the likes of Malfoy and Criggle and Bulstrode, I'd go mad and slaughter them all," Sirius told him. 

Remus grinned at him.  "That's one way of solving the problem."

"Besides, it's never _just_ sitting in the Wizengamot.  There's all the other crap that goes with it - the society functions and Merlin knows what else.  And let's not forget the heir, which will happen only over my dead body."

"Are you serious about letting your family name die out?"

"Yes."

Remus let it go.  He knew that tone of voice.  It niggled at the back of his mind, though, because they were about to take the heir of another First Family into their household, and at some point it would be their duty to induct Harry into the business of the First Families.  He couldn't help feeling that it would be irresponsible of them to raise Harry to believe that shirking the ancient duties laid upon him by his family name was somehow all right.  Granted, the majority of Sirius's family seemed to be remarkably unpleasant people, from their magical morals to their marital habits, but the Potters were a decent, distinguished line and it would be a shame if they failed to bring Harry to respect that.

Hogwarts would close for the summer at the end of June, and Harry's letters - increasing in frequency - were now full of end-of-year tests and the last Quidditch games of the year.  That he was anxious to know what was going to happen to him when the holidays began was evident, not in what he said but in the fact that he was owling Sirius so often.  It aggravated Sirius that he had to keep telling Harry no more than that they were working on the issue.

"At this rate, he really _is_ going to try and do a bunk," he said at one point, puzzling over what to say in his latest reply.

"Try to stave it off if you can, Padfoot.  Keep it positive."

"And say what?"

Remus's eyes fell on the headline of the _Daily Prophet,_ which had arrived with the morning's mail.  "Tell him about the Quidditch World Cup."  Another thought occurred.  "You could offer to take him to see it, it'll give him something to look forward to.  Even if you don't have custody by then, surely there's no reason why you shouldn't take him to see the game."

"We," Sirius reminded him.  " _We'll_ take him to see the game."

"All right, but the tickets are going to set you back a few Galleons."

"Piffle!"

That seemed to settle that.

Nevertheless, even Remus began to feel a little twitchy as time went on and there was no decision from the Family Court.

"Is it normal for it to take this long?" he asked Sirius at one point.  "I know all court proceedings take time, but surely this is quite a straightforward matter?"

"You'd think so, wouldn't you, but old Shoester says this is normal."  Sirius was folding, unfolding and refolding his solicitor's update letter restlessly.  "I'm beginning to think Dumbledore's right and the Ministry staff are dragging it out for their own entertainment.  It shouldn't take more than an afternoon once it actually _reaches_ the Court."

"And who makes the decisions?"

"A couple of the heads of First Families, I think.  They take it in turns to serve on the Courts ... or sometimes it's someone like the Archbishop or High Priestess."

This bothered Remus more than he let on.  He didn't have much faith left in the Ministry or Wizengamot, and the idea that Harry's future was to be decided by people who were almost entirely guided by their own best interests - and who had a significant animus against anyone of less than pure blood - did not set his mind at rest.  He was only surprised to discover that Sirius seemed much less concerned about this aspect than he was.

"How biased are they likely to be?" he asked.

"What, against Harry?"  Sirius shrugged.  "Difficult to say, but since the issue is all about taking the heir of an ancient house away from Muggles and placing him with pureblooded wizards, they'll probably be less biased against it than you might think.  And since his family's lawyers aren't any happier about him being in Petunia's hands than I am, they'll have all sorts of nice legal arguments to back up old Shoester's, I'll bet.  We'll see, anyway.  As long as Dumbledore doesn't change his mind, we should come about."

 

~~~

 

Harry's final owl to Sirius arrived on the day the Hogwarts Express gathered up the pupils and delivered them to their families in London.  The tone of it was not happy, but as Sirius's last letter had explicitly asked him to go with the Dursleys for the time being (Remus's advice, as asking seemed to be more effective with Harry than telling), he was at least obedient, if not very agreeable about it.  There were some dark hints about the probable fate of his cousin Dudley if he had to spend a whole summer with him, which both men decided to treat as a joke, and Sirius sent back some suggestions on how best to thwart this unlovable youth's pretensions.

All the same, they both felt considerable sympathy for Harry, especially as this business had been dragging on for some time now; from Harry's perspective it probably looked like months rather than the weeks that had passed in reality, since a teenaged boy couldn't be expected to understand the legal details, let alone the sheer number of people and opinions involved in his care and well-being.  There was also the issue of his fourteenth birthday, which they had both hoped would be celebrated with them at the Manor.  Curiously, mention of this to Harry in a letter had not been productive of the enthusiastic response Sirius had expected, which led Remus at least to suspect that Harry's birthday was not as important to the Dursleys as it was to them.  Since this was both annoying and depressing, he decided not to share the suspicion with Sirius, especially as Sirius was wrestling with the question of what to buy Harry for his birthday and the all too obvious answer, to Remus, was "anything".

"The Firebolt you gave him for Christmas is going to be a hard act to follow," he said instead.

Sirius looked momentarily pleased.  "That's a bloody good broomstick.  With a bit of luck, he'll do okay on that for a few years."

"I should hope so."  Remus considered the problem at hand.  "I know it's boring, but how about we get him some decent clothes?  I don't know if you noticed, but the stuff he was wearing was barely fit for rags when we saw him at Hogwarts.  A boy his age feels that kind of thing."

"All right.  And let's sort out a proper birthday cake.  I don't suppose he'll get anything decent from Petunia."

Remus bit his tongue on that, lest his own feelings on the subject ran away with him.

And since there was nothing further they could do about Harry's presents until he was with them, this was set aside.  At this point letters from Harry stopped altogether, however, which agitated Sirius a little.

"What if something's happened to him?"

"I'm sure we'd know if it had.  Besides, why should it?  I expect it's more difficult for him to owl from a Muggle area without being seen - either that or he's sulking.  It's probably a bit of both."  Remus remembered something.  "Didn't Dumbledore say there are people who keep an eye on him?  Arabella Figg lives nearby ..."

"Figgy?"  Sirius snorted.  "What good is that?  She's a squib!"

"Better that than no experience of magic at all."

"This is such a bloody stupid situation."

By the end of the month Remus decided they were both in desperate need of a leavening influence, so he invited Andromeda Tonks and her family over for lunch one day.  Sirius was pessimistic about the chances of her accepting, knowing how she felt about the house, but he hadn't considered the strength of her curiosity which had been stoked somewhat by Tonks's description of their situation.  She even agreed to their Floos being connected, to make the visit easier.

She was certainly a little tense when she stepped out of the kitchen fireplace, but the kitchen was now a homely and welcoming place, smelling of fresh bread and zest from the lemons Sirius had cut up to make lemonade, and bore no resemblance to any part of the Manor she remembered from her childhood.

"If I'd known the kitchen was like this, I'd have spent more time here," she commented, and she reached out to hug Sirius.  "You're looking so much better!" she told him, approving.

"Funnily enough, I feel a lot better," he replied, although his grin was a little embarrassed.  Then he had to catch Tonks as she landed in the hearth and promptly fell over her own feet.  She had hot pink hair today, to go with a goth-style black spiderweb lace dress and knee-high black lace-up boots.  "Is it me, or are you a bit clumsy?"

"Nope, I'm clumsy!" she said cheerfully, and she nearly fell over again trying to get out of the way of  her father as he arrived.

"If you go through the doorway there ..." Sirius directed them.

"Does this lead into Grandmother's sitting room?" Andromeda asked.  "I don't quite remember - oh!  I _see!_   Yes, you were right to do this, how much more convenient for you both!"

Remus had opened up the doors onto the little courtyard - which they had decided to rechristen as 'the patio' - and moved the low table, couch and chairs outside where they could get the best benefit of the sun in the afternoon.

"Nice work," Ted said quietly to Sirius, as Andromeda dashed outside to look up and around, trying to orientate herself after so long an absence.  "So how much of the house is shut off?"

"Everything but this wing and the coach-house," Sirius said, digging his hands into his pockets.  "We've got four bedrooms, two bathrooms and storage space upstairs, and the kitchen, scullery, laundry and living space on ground level.  The basement directly under this room is set up for Remus on full moons, if it's not safe or good enough weather for him to run in the grounds."  He shot Ted a quick grin.  "More than enough room for three people, in other words."

"And when's the Potter kid coming to live with you?" Tonks asked, hanging back and watching her mother chatting to Remus in the garden.

"We still haven't heard anything.  I keep expecting to be summoned to a Court hearing any day, but even the solicitors aren't sure what's going on."

"Bureaucrats," Ted said, and somehow his voice managed to express both weary disgust and calm unconcern.  "At this rate the boy'll be back at school before they make their minds up."

"I hope not.  I don't think he'd forgive me for that!"

Ted chuckled.  "Impatient is he?"

"He _was_ , but we haven't heard from him since Hogwarts kicked out, which bothers me a bit."

"Sulking, most likely."

"That's what Remus says."

They joined Remus and Andromeda out on the patio.  They were discussing the garden, Andromeda expressing the opinion that they'd be lucky to tame even a quarter of the grounds after so much neglect -

"Not that the grounds were ever really _tame_ in the first place.  Grandpapa liked to have a few wide creatures loose in the undergrowth, and they've probably been breeding."

"We're not really aiming to tame the grounds, just ensure they're not lethal," Remus replied.  "The kitchen garden could make itself useful though.  With a bit of luck, I'll have some tomatoes in the greenhouse soon."

"We're thinking about becoming smallholders," Sirius said, straight-faced.

"You mean Remus is!"  Andromeda tutted at him.  "I don't see you tilling the soil somehow!"

"You've enough room here for it," Ted remarked, amused.  "I'm not sure I'd like to see the size of your jarveys though."

"It's not the jarveys that are the problem, it's the rabbits," Remus replied.  "They took a whole plot of young lettuces in a single night.  Sirius has been letting off steam by hunting them, so if you have a taste for free-range rabbit meat you should put your orders in now.  We can keep you supplied for the foreseeable future."

"Do you hunt them in dog form?" Tonks asked, delighted.  "Brilliant!"

"How big's the warren?" Ted asked.

"Not as big as it was when we first moved in!"

"A whole warren? What a nuisance!"  Andromeda considered this.  "How close is it to the kitchen garden?"

"It's on the other side of the grounds, but they roam quite a distance - and of course, my young plants are a big attraction for them," Remus said.  "The nuisance factor is how ineffective wards tend to be where animals are concerned.  I set up some really stinging ones around the plot, but the rabbits just barrelled through them as though they weren't there."

"You might be better trying to use a lure to keep them on their own side of the garden ..."

The conversation flowed easily as they settled onto the chairs and helped themselves to the buffet lunch on the table.  Tonks was waiting for an opportunity, though, and when Ted, Andromeda and Remus were discussing the upcoming Ministerial 'election' (which was no such thing, as only the Wizengamot could actually propose and install the Minister), she tugged on Sirius's sleeve.

"Have you thought any more about re-joining the Aurors?" she asked him.

"No," Sirius said baldly.  "Why the devil would I do that?"

"Pity," Tonks remarked rather mournfully.  "You've no idea what a bunch of dusty old stiffs most of them are these days.  Even the ones who start out with a bit of initiative end up getting infected by the rules and regulations, until all they do is push paper and talk politics."

"The department's always been full of old stiffs," Sirius told her.  "If you want to get promoted you have to tight-lace your corset and get prosy with the best of them.  That's why James and I never would have got very far - well, James might have, with his connections, but he wasn't really in it for the long haul.  But I could've kissed all the arse I liked; no one was about to risk my mother's temper by playing nice with me.  Not that I was ever anyone's arse-kisser anyway."

She sniggered.  "Kingsley doesn't genuflect either, so I don't know how he's got as far as he has."

"He's got the right manner," Sirius said, shrugging.  "Sometimes that's all you need, a bit of dignified respect without actually getting your knees dirty.  Some people can get away with attitude and some people can't.  Believe me, I can't, so why even try?"

"Because you're good at it!"

Sirius made a rude noise, amused.

"No, you are," Tonks insisted.  "It was brilliant when you broke out of prison!  Well, not _brilliant_ exactly, but it was like someone stuck a handful of cockroaches in Scrimgeour's jockstrap!  The whole department ran around like headless gnomes, except for Kingsley and Moody, and you know what Moody's like, he wanted to head out to Azkaban and fry the guards' nuts for letting you escape in the first place.  Then they tried to retire him - well, he _is_ a bit wand-happy and unpredictable - but Kingsley said no, because he was probably the only person who would have an idea of what you were planning to do.  And then they went out to Azkaban anyway - I went with them, but Kingsley made me stay on the barge at the dock - and Moody found out about Fudge giving you his newspaper."  She snorted with laughter.  "Moody wanted to arrest Fudge for helping you to escape!"

"Pity they didn't do it!"

"Yeah.  Oh well, we can't have everything I suppose.  But they found the remains of the paper in your cell and the hole where you tore out the picture of the Weasleys.  We still couldn't work out what it was that set you off but Kingsley swore there must be something important about it, and since one of the prison guards said you were muttering a lot about rats and Harry Potter before you escaped, we ended up chasing you to Hogwarts."  She beamed at him.  "The other junior Aurors were as sick as gnarls when we couldn't find any trail, but Kingsley just said that was how good you were at hiding your tracks."

A little overwhelmed by this, Sirius struggled to find a response.  "That's nice of Kingsley, but I think he was giving me a bit too much credit," he said finally.  "I didn't exactly have all my marbles in order at the time, you know."

Tonks nodded enthusiastically.  "I know, and that's what makes it so brilliant!  You did all that stuff on reflex, which is what Kingsley and Moody are always trying to tell us!"

"Tonks," he said, frustrated, "that's all really great for _you_ , but what in Merlin's name does it have to do with me?  Why would I _want_ to be an Auror these days?  As far as I can tell, not one damn thing has changed since they threw me into Azkaban.  I don't have the patience or idealism for that kind of crap anymore.  Besides, there's a teenager who's relying on me to be his new daddy any day now, so my hands are full."

"Yeah, but only until September, when he goes back to school," she pointed out.  "What are you going to do for the rest of the year?"

Since Sirius didn't have an answer for this, it was fortunate that Loki chose this moment to swoop around the side of the house and land on the back of the couch next to him, with a letter clasped in his beak.

"Excuse me ..."  Sirius risked his fingers retrieving the letter (Loki was not above nipping the hand that fed him), and quickly ripped it open.  Then he swore.  "I don't believe it - the one day when we have guests and they pick _today_ to call me to the hearing!  I'm sorry, Andromeda, Ted - I'm going to have to dash off, they've only given me an hour's warning ..."  He was getting up as he spoke.

"You're joking?" Remus said, astonished.  "But what if you'd been tied up in some other business?"

"Wouldn't surprise me if that's what they were hoping for."  Sirius handed him the letter and jogged into the house.

"Oh, how infuriating and utterly _typical_ ," Andromeda said, reading the letter over Remus's shoulder.  "Nobody's convenience consulted but their own and so high-handed ... this is symptomatic of everything that most annoys me about the Ministry and Wizengamot these days."

"Look who's sitting on the Court panel," Remus said, and he handed the letter over so that she could show Ted.  "Criggle, Yaxley and Ernestina Boot."

"Ernestina will be fair-minded, I'm sure," Andromeda said.  "She's on the school board of governors as well.  I've known her since we were girls."

"Quintus Criggle's a crusty old nuisance," Tonks remarked, helping herself to another cake from the dish on the table.  "Changes his mind every two minutes, according to Moody, and he likes to be a bit contrary."

"Let's hope Aldous Yaxley sticks his foot in his mouth as usual, then, and makes Criggle take Sirius's part," Ted said.  "He probably will."

"If Sirius doesn't set him off first," Remus said dryly.

 

~~~

 

"How will you get the boy home?" Ted asked, as they were preparing to leave the Manor a couple of hours later.  Sirius had still not returned from the Ministry.

"I'm not sure, but I expect we'll drive or fly there straight, then either Apparate or fly back.  It depends what time Sirius gets back from the Ministry, really."  Remus glanced at the kitchen clock; it was nearly four o'clock in the afternoon.

"Is it a long way?" Andromeda asked, concerned.

"An hour or so by road.  Luckily we're reasonably familiar with the area - the Dursleys don't live far from where Lily's parents used to live."

"You'd be better leaving it till the morning, though, wouldn't you?  It'll be rather late to arrive there."

"Well, we'll see.  I expect Sirius will want to set off straight away, but I shan't let him do it if it means arriving on their doorstep at midnight!"

Privately, though, Remus doubted his ability to stop Sirius going to get Harry immediately, but right now his bigger concern was whether everything would turn out the way they hoped.  The longer it took, the more doubtful he became.  What would they tell Harry, if the Court decided to be difficult after all?

More to the point, what would Harry do?

 _Be honest,_ Remus told himself, as he closed the Floo behind the Tonkses.  _The real question is - what will_ Sirius _do?_   He didn't have an answer to that either.

As the clock slowly ticked its way around to five o'clock he paced restlessly.  He wondered if he should start planning for dinner, but remembered at the last minute that he didn't know if it was going to be dinner for two people or three, and gave up again.  Then, at twenty to six, the outer wards chimed softly to announce an arrival, and Sirius all but flew through the kitchen door.

"Well?" Remus asked, although he could tell the answer just from his partner's expression, and the corner of his mouth twitched a little.

Sirius held up a roll of parchment and grinned.  "Let's go get him!"

 

~~~

 

"The hearing took about twenty minutes once I was called," Sirius said in disgust, as they pulled on bike leathers and strapped Remus's broom, in its carrying bag, onto the side of the motorbike.  "I've been sitting outside the damn Court chamber all this time!  Shoester and Mervyn Blight were both there too.  Turned out that Yaxley mistook the time and someone had to track him down ... something like that, anyway.  Dumbledore turned up just as they called us, which makes me wonder how he knows about this stuff, although I suppose he's been dealing with Yaxley long enough to know how unpredictable he can be."

"And there was no trouble?" Remus asked, surprised.

"Criggle made a few juicy comments, but I think he was trying to wind everyone up.  Dumbledore just gave him one of those looks over his specs - _you_ know the sort! - and he shut up.  They had a quick look through all the papers, asked me if I had a safe home for Harry and would take full legal responsibility for him, then they checked if Dumbledore and the other trustees were okay with it - Dumbledore gave them some sort of signed document - and that was it.  Talk about an anticlimax."

"Which means it really _has_ been sitting with the Ministry paper-pushers all this time," Remus concluded.  "Makes you wonder who really makes the decisions, doesn't it?  Still, it's all sorted out now.  Did you get Shoester to check the documents for any funny business in the small print?"

"I didn't even have to ask," Sirius said, handing him a crash helmet.  "He and Blight went through it all before they'd let me sign anything, but it's all right and tight according to them."  He paused just as he was about to put his own helmet on.  "Dumbledore made a point of asking me to be nice to Petunia."  He rolled his eyes.  "I gave him my word, so you'll have to do all the terrorising when we get there."

Remus chuckled, although his mind was already running ahead to the impending confrontation - he was too realistic to believe that it would be anything else, even with Sirius on his best behaviour.

They arrived in Little Whinging just before eight o'clock, purring through the painfully neat and self-conscious little suburb in the last baking heat of the sun as it began to drop in the sky.  There were a few children playing on the grass verges as they passed Lobelia Crescent and Magnolia Road, and more than a few men out in their front gardens and driveways, either watering their gardens or washing their cars.  They looked up as the unfamiliar sound of the motorbike approached; Remus got the distinct impression that this was not the sort of neighbourhood where motorbikes were _de rigueur_.  Not that this came as a surprise.

"We should find somewhere a bit away from the house to park the bike," he said into Sirius's right ear, raising his voice enough to be heard over the engine.  "Somewhere out of sight."

"Right ..."

It took a bit of circling around, but eventually they came across the local primary school, closed for the summer but with its gates open and a long drive that led invitingly around to the rear of the school buildings.  Sirius drove the bike right around and parked it just outside the playground.  He warded it and added a charm that would distract casual attention from it, then they took it in turns to wave a wand over each other's clothes.  Remus's rather creased jeans turned into a pair of pristine chinos and his leather bike jacket lengthened into a more respectable dark brown cord jacket over his polo shirt.  Sirius's jeans turned from faded blue to indigo and he sported a black hip-length leather coat over his t-shirt.

"Respectable enough for the neighbours?" he asked, raising his brows at Remus.

"At the risk of sounding reckless, who cares?  We won't be there for long.  Got the papers?"  Sirius checked his inner pocket and nodded.  "Good.  Let's grab Harry and run - it's getting late, even for flying home, and I'm starting to feel hungry."

"Hex me if I ever consider living somewhere like this," Sirius commented, as they passed pristine little painted fences, manicured hedges, shrubs and lawns, and obnoxious garden ornaments.  Worse than the horticulture was the quiet; not the peaceful quiet of their kitchen garden in the evening, with the hum of insects and birdsong, but the curiously tense, watchful silence that defied even the sounds of habitation - a Muggle television in one of the houses, children chattering in a garden, a car some streets away, the noise of sprinkler system on a lawn.

They turned into Privet Drive, which was an even quieter, more artificial little cul-de-sac off Magnolia Road.

"Are we being watched?"

"Oh yes.  The curtains are twitching all along the road."

"Do we look that weird?"

"No - I think we just look as though we don't belong here."

"I can live with that."

Number 4 had a garden with a tightly clipped lawn and low boundary hedge, and strictly controlled rhododendrons and agapanthuses.  The driveway was gravelled, without a stone out of place and, like all the properties in the area, the house had ugly white plastic framed windows.

Remus approached the front door, feeling his stomach knot up ridiculously.

"Do we knock?" Sirius asked.

"No ..."  He found the button he was looking for and pressed it firmly.  A bell rang somewhere inside the house.  "We ring."

After a moment or two, there was a rattle of the lock and the door opened.  Remus had no trouble identifying the woman who peered at them suspiciously.

"Good evening, Petunia," he said pleasantly.

For a moment her eyes were blank, then she looked at Sirius - and turned an odd sallow colour as she recognised him.  With a tiny gasp of horror, she tried to shut the door.  Remus had been expecting this and put his hand out to stop her.

"You can either invite us inside, or we can shout at you through the letter box," he told her, fighting her for control of the door.  "I'm sure your neighbours would be fascinated to hear what we have to say."

"What do you want?" she hissed furiously.  "Why can't you people leave us alone?"

"Because you have something of ours and we want it back," Sirius said in an obnoxiously loud, cheerful voice.

Remus was impressed at how quickly she could drag the pair of them through the door and shut it behind them.

"I don't have anything that belongs to a lot of freaks like you!" Petunia said furiously, raising her voice in the safety of the house.

"Yes, you do," Remus told her, hanging onto his mild tone with an effort.  He'd forgotten how shrill her voice was when she was angry - which, now he came to think of it, had always seemed to be her default state.  "Sirius?"

Sirius pulled out the bundle of papers, pausing to eye Petunia bemusedly when she flinched and backed away.  He unfolded the parchment and held it up.  "By order of the Court of Family Affairs at the Ministry of Magic, you are hereby relieved of the guardianship of Henry James Potter," he said, adding helpfully, "That's your nephew, Harry."

There was a pause.  "You're taking the boy away?"

"That's right," Sirius said amiably.

"For good?"

"Yes."

Petunia drew a breath to say something else, but she was interrupted by the thunder of feet on the stairs.  Harry came hurtling downstairs, carrying a spray bottle and a duster, only to stop short half a dozen steps from the bottom.  His eyes flicked between Remus and Sirius, ignoring his aunt as though she wasn't there, and for a second he was so tense that his body almost seemed to vibrate.

Remus smiled up at him.  "Hello Harry."

He didn't seem able to say anything, but the painful look of hope on his face spoke volumes.  Sirius broke into a grin.

"Are you ready to go?" he asked.

And the words broke loose in a flood.  "I can really come with you?  For good?  To live with you and everything and I don't have to come back here?  Promise?"

The last word wasn't one Remus had been expecting from a boy of Harry's age, but from the way he said it, and the look in his eyes as he did so, there was a lot of significance behind it.  He felt his stomach knot up all over again.  Someone, possibly more than one person, had made promises to Harry and not kept them - and from the way Petunia was bristling, Remus didn't have far to look for at least one of the culprits. 

"If that isn't the outside of enough!" she snapped, before Sirius could reply to Harry's questions.  "Twelve years I've had to put up with my sister's nasty, ungrateful brat - twelve years!  Twelve years of him terrorising my Dudley and getting into trouble at school and with the neighbours - "

Harry turned white.  "I never did!  It was all Dudley!"  But the denial wasn't directed at his aunt.  He was looking at Sirius, and from the look on his face he was afraid he wouldn't be believed.

"And the lies!" Petunia continued, her face screwing up sanctimoniously.  "He _lies_ , he _steals_ , he _breaks_ things - and that's not to mention the _freakish_ things he's done - twelve years of it!  And _now_ you're suddenly coming to take him away without so much as a word of thanks or a by your leave.  If that isn't just typical of you people!  You dump him on my doorstep one day and just appear to take him again - no please or thank you, no explanations!"

The look Sirius gave her could have filled the pages of a book, but he was obedient to Dumbledore's request.  "Have you finished?"

Remus wondered if the glare she was directing at the two of them would do any damage to the wallpaper and paintwork behind them.

"Believe me," Sirius told her, in a deceptively mild tone that Remus was only too familiar with, "the last thing on earth I wanted to do was end up in prison, leaving Harry with _you_ of all people.  If I'd known this was where he was living, I'd have escaped a lot sooner."  While she spluttered over this, he turned back to Harry with a smile.  "Yes, you're really coming with us to live, for good.  Get your things!"

Harry didn't need a second invitation.  He cast aside the bottle and duster, jumped down the last few stairs and squeezed past the three of them, going to the end of the hallway and unbolting a low door under the stairs.  Remus gave Sirius a quick look and went to help.

"Bring everything, Harry, because you won't be coming back …"

Peering around the edge of the door, he was suddenly grateful that his back was to Sirius, because he didn't think he could control his expression enough not to bring his partner to look as well.

Remus hadn't thought that the cupboard would be big enough for a person to climb inside, but Harry switched on a tiny overhead light and folded himself up neatly into the available space - which was certainly a little larger than Remus had anticipated, but it was still just a cupboard tucked into the limited area under the staircase -

\- a cupboard containing a camp bed and a couple of tiny shelves, all fitted somehow around the gas meter. 

The sheets, pillow and folded pyjamas on the camp bed indicated quite clearly that this was not just a storage space, as did the small number of knick-knacks on the shelves and the Hogwarts school trunk wedged underneath the bed.  Harry's Firebolt broom was standing up in the highest corner, carefully shrouded in its leather carrying bag.  Wedged into another tiny corner was Hedwig's owl cage.

As Remus watched, stunned, Harry carefully eased the broom out of its place, manoeuvring with practised care in the few inches of room, and held it out to him. 

"Would you hold my broom, please, Professor?"

He took it without a word.  There wasn't much else he could do under the circumstances - except, possibly, grab Petunia and shake her until her great horsy teeth rattled out of her head.  As this would be a dangerous course of action (if he started he didn't think he'd be able to stop, and Sirius would certainly demand an explanation which would lead to other undesirable consequences), Remus concentrated instead on acting as though there was nothing wrong.  Meanwhile, Harry was collecting his meagre bits and pieces and dragging his school trunk from under the bed.  As he did this, the bed slowly began to collapse in the middle as its main means of support was taken away.

It took Harry less than five minutes to gather up his belongings, in which time Petunia had conducted a rapid-fire and low-voiced argument with Sirius which ended with her scarlet-faced with rage.  Werewolf hearing was excellent; Remus could only hope that Harry had been too busy collecting his things to overhear too, for he didn't need to hear his aunt's chagrin over the imminent loss of the money she received from the Potter Estate for his upkeep.

Remus's outrage had now reached such proportions that he wasn't sure he could actually speak, even had he trusted himself to do so.  He managed a quick, hopefully reassuring, smile for Harry and helped him to drag the trunk down the hallway to the front door.  As they did so, the lock rattled and the door opened to admit Vernon Dursley.

Remus had to admit to himself that he wouldn't have recognised Lily Potter's brother-in-law if he'd run into him in the street, despite having met him on a number of occasions before Harry was born.  He had always been a tall, thick-set man, but he was now approaching middle-age and heavily overweight, with greying hair and a moustache that added the finishing touch to an overwhelming impression of a walrus in golfing gear.

Vernon stopped short on his doorstep and stared at the scene before him in confusion and suspicion.  "What the devil - !"

"Vernon!"  Petunia managed to make his name something between a cry of relief and a shriek of condemnation.  "Where have you been?  These dreadful people are here and I'm sure I don't know what could have become of me, with no one here to support me but poor Dudders …"

"Poor Dudders" was not in evidence, for which Remus was grateful.  He wasn't sure he could deal with a third Dursley.

"I wasn't actually guilty of murder," Sirius said, annoyed, "but it could still happen!"

"Sirius," Remus said tightly, "let's just go, eh?  Harry …"  He was surprised to discover that Harry was half-hiding behind him, his face pale and tight once more with suppressed agitation. 

Recognition had suddenly dawned in his uncle's face; Vernon was staring at Sirius with startled indignation.  "Here, aren't you one of those people Petunia's no-good sister used to hang around with?"

"Yes!" Petunia snapped, before Sirius could answer.  "He is!  They both are!  And if only _you_ had been where you were supposed to be, which was _here_ , hours ago, then I shouldn't have had to put up with them forcing their way into our home and treating me like the lost property office!  Where have you been?"

Vernon began to bluster, his face turning an unattractive puce colour, but his wife's litany of recriminations was only just beginning it seemed.

Sirius observed the argument for several minutes before turning to look at Remus, his expression incredulous.  "Do you suddenly feel completely superfluous?" he asked.

"Yes, thank Merlin!  Let's get out of here."

"We'll be off then," Sirius told Petunia politely, breaking into the quarrel when she paused to take a breath.

"GET OUT OF MY HOME!" she shrieked, making the three of them and her husband jump at the unexpectedness of it.

"Come on, lad," Remus told Harry, and he firmly steered the boy around his uncle and out of the front door.  It slammed shut behind them, almost trapping the tail of Sirius's jacket.

Sirius waited until they were on the pavement before remarking: "That could be listed in the encyclopaedia under 'bizarre'.  Are you okay, Harry?"

Harry was looking decidedly upset, despite a visible effort to hide it.  "Do you mean it?" he said urgently to Sirius.  "I'm really coming with you for good?"

"Word of a Marauder," Sirius told him firmly.  "This isn't really the place for it, but when we get a moment to sit down you can read the documents from the Ministry.  Okay?"

A huge, if slightly shaky smile broke over the teenager's face.  "Thanks," he said awkwardly.  "That's brilliant."

"Of course it is," Sirius said, so smugly that Remus and Harry both grinned.  "Right, let's sort ourselves out and get going.  You don't mind flying, do you?"

Harry couldn't have looked more delighted.  "Really?  Wicked!  I haven't got on my broom for weeks!"

"All right, then, although you'll have to ride on the back of the bike when we get to the Manor because of the - _oof!_ "  Sirius was startled to suddenly find himself with an armful of emotional teenager, which nothing he had seen of Harry so far had led him to expect.  "Harry?"

Harry pulled himself together, embarrassed.  "Sorry," he said gruffly, and his voice cracked a little on the word.

Sirius squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.  "It's okay.  Are you all right?"

Harry nodded vigorously.  "It's just … if you really mean it, then maybe we should go.  Before they come out here."  He waved in the direction of the Dursleys' front door, and when Sirius and Remus turned to look, the net curtains at the bay window moved.  So did the curtains at the windows of several other houses.

Sirius snorted.  "Their lives have never been so interesting!"

"Be that as it may, Harry has a point," Remus said firmly.  "And I, for one, want my dinner some time this week!  So if you're ready, Mr. Padfoot …?"

"If you insist, Mr. Moony!"  Sirius slung his arm around Harry's shoulders and they all set off down the road.  "This'll be brilliant," he told the boy, exchanging a quick grin with Remus over his head.  "Your room's all ready for you.  Of course, the Manor's half falling down, the ghosts are always acting up, and the garden's like a jungle and probably full of deadly creatures, but what I always say is, what's life without a bit of risk …"

 **_\- finis -_ **


End file.
